Trials of a Xersian uprising
by dangerously savvy to genres
Summary: 1917: A conflict of interests between the Angloterran empire and the city of Xersia results in a vicious siege of the city. But when Edward arrives in search of alchemic and historical knowledge, he meets new people while deciding to investigate, and finds that the empire is ready for war. And as interests conflict, so do the people who can actually choose a side... or themselves.
1. Introduction: Tale of two cultures

The trials of a Xersian uprising

Hi guys. This is just another boring fanfic. Don't worry. Its not a stupid one (I hope), but a continual set after the manga featuring a conflict of interests between an empire and a city. Of course, life is not simple. I hope to provide a dark, cynical look into the effects of an uprising upon those who live in the city from the actions of a dangerously genre savvy empire which knows enough tropes to deter the storyline as the town increasingly strives for independance. Of course, it doesn't matter how good you are, when life gives you the lemons, it stays that way. Thus, a unlucky Edward will be the main character. Oh, did I mention that the world is a crapsaccherine one? Expect lots of new characters and cultures. And expect death. After all, the most indiscriminate thing that ever existed is death, and grey and black morality is abound. I know the tropes: expect subverted tropes and averted tropes, and even invoked ones (seriously, you will need to have read tv to understand some things). Dont worry, humour will exist in little clumps. Finally, apologies in advance, I am doing this on a tablet and it is very time consuming, so it won't be a long story, maybe 4 or 5 chapters pkus this introduction to the two interested parties, but please be patient: I can focus on this to give you a hopefully good story. Please tell me what you think and maybe even provide ideas or point out flaws in my work (there will be spelling errors, either through my own neligence or typo with a tablet) Welcome to the cynical end of the sliding scale of idealism vs cynicism.

But first, a quick introduction to the two sides with interests.

Angloterran empire:

The Angloterran empire is quite strange when one looks at it. To fully understand it, one will have to go back through the history of this universe to about 1803, but the cultures and ideaologies if the empire differ based upon the countries that make up the empire.

The first and by far most influencial country in Angloterra is the country of Anglia. Anglians are often described by their closest neighbours and enemies, and allies, the culturally respected country of Gaulia, found upon the Terran mainland itself when compared to the island nation that is Anglia, as being "Honourable, witty, hightly intelligent, good humoured, sporting, manipulative, sociopathic, rude, pub-crawling, impolite, blood knight, clearly mad, partly neutral evil, military enhanced, democratic dictatorship inhabited by mad, war obsessed magnificent bastards who need to be taken down a notch in the world." Anglians genrally agreed with this statement. Like many other Terran nations in the continent of terra, Anglia had an empire before the formation of the Angloterran empire. Anglia had a huge military, known as the royal army , a large royal navy, and the beginning of a royal air force. It may come somewhat a surprise that Anglia was not a monachy, despite the usage of the word royal. After a parlimentary uprising placed Anglia under a brutal civil war in 1543 to 1550 which resulted in the disposal of the current monachy and the introduction of a parlimentary dictatorship, the new dictator set about making sure that the Anglian military was loyal to him. The Anglian military was based upon recruiting almost everyone in the island to serve for honour and the empire. By incorperating the latest technologies, it was seen as the most powerful army in both Terra and the known world. The army was immensely powerful, and the dictator held an iron grip over it until his death, although he helped to craft the beginnings of the Anglian empire. When he died of a noodle incident that discussing still holds the death penalty for, the rightful heir to the throne reclaimed the country and became a beacon of morality in a sinful world. He laid the foundations for democracy in the country, modernesid the country and funded the finest universities and research centres to advance the scientific principles that the country relied so much on. He also moved to eliminate the corruption that engulfed Anglian politics and advanced the state towards a welfare society: what was once based upon the principles of wealth and status becane based upon intelligence and ability: the foundations of the military was incorporated into the running of the country. The military was to pledge their allegiance to the crown to avoid another situation when one could so simply create a civil war by denying monachy the right to use the military: it had to be carried out in agreement of the crown and parliament. This came to a rather unfortunate situation. Only 3 years after the death of this man, his only heir was executed for holding a religious belief. The monachy was never reinstated and a democratic dictatorship: vote for who you want to be dictator, arose, akthough the army still had to pkedge allegience to a non existant monach. The parlimentary dictatorship happens in quite the splendid way. Members of parliament are chosen by the public for whoever best represents the wishes and views of the majority of the populace of the constituency. When all the MP's in the country have been elected: some military, some professors, and some ordinary people. Then, gambit pileups occur. Every single person produes xanatos gambits and become chessmasters in a bid to becone dictator of the country. While assassination was illegal due to lack of MP's, anything else went. The system, with its uncoventional method and impressive reward, served to ensure that whoever was in charge of Anglia was the last plan standing: the most magnificent bastard who out gambitted all of his political rivals and manipulated the public into agreeing with his opinion with just a few words. While usually the dictator would be a general, the man with the power would usually be a scientist working with said general. However, as of the time of this Xersian uprising, 1917, the current dictator with absolute power was one ex mercenary and general of the Anglian military, Arthur Cunningham (reports that he had supernatural help via a wierd notebook were ended after all of the people investigating died of mysterious heart attacks). In basic terms, it is almost a carbon copy of england. Fantasy culture counterpart indeed. Another important detail was that Anglians loved war. Way too much. War was said to be the lifeblood of the country, and it is not hard to see why: the country had run on war for all of its lifetime, and to keeo yp a state of perpetual war, it was at war with "that really bright star", although shots are yet to be fired. In essence, its emoire was just a great big excuse for war and more with other countries: the larger the military, the better. (Thus, Anglia had a long history of war with other Terran countries). Also, a weird trait, often considered genetic, was a stiff upper lip. Doctors were very annoyed to find that many patients died because the gaping hole through the chest and missing limbs were "minor inconvineinces". Finally, a wierd custom occuredcin that a Anglian should never show his/her (no discrimination between genders: they were equally expendable, despite their 36 weeks of training: the longest training course in the known world at the time for basic mooks) face in combst. As such, full face helmets, baraclavas, face veils, all were used to dehumanise the soldiers to make them simply faceless mooks. No-one can find a reason as to this genre blindless.

Gaulia and Gothland

The other two countries that made up the Angloterran empire's main command. Compared to Anglia, they were political countries that lay in the cultural heart of the Angloterran empire, as well as expressing the Terran continent and expressing logical policies. Of the two, Gothland was extremely simple. A social darwinist monachy, they worked on entirely logical principles: a situation which led to said social darwinism. The throne was covered in blood. Often, this was literal. Nay, in fact, it was always literal with the Gothians. It was rare for a monach to live more than three years before being assassinated by someone. The economy was very well run, and surprisingly Gothland was the most moral and the most honourable of the three countries, despite the social darwinism. This is because the logical solution was almost always honesty and morality, because roaring rampage of revenges were so common. They did not have a large military: they found it much more logical to forge alliances, and to everyone's surprise, especially the war obsessed Anglians, it worked. Gothland never had an empire of themselves: too illogical. But when the three countries united their empires to rule as joint leaders, Gothland joined based upon logical decision. As the logical group of the continent of Terra, they based all of their reasoning in logic and science and reasoning: like Anglia, but without all the war. Insulting a Gothian was considered a very good way to get a angry group, or army, of Anglians knocking at your door: the two countries were the stauntchest of allies, and reacted together as well as radicals react with ozone: Engineering was often carried out in Gothland to build new, exciting weapons and vehicles to trade for scientific knowkedge from Anglia while Anglians act like little children with high caliber explosive weaponry. Needless to say, combined with their knowledge and two more factors I shall mention later, technology in Angloterra was remiscent of 1935 in our world by the time of 1917.

A Gaulian, plural Gaulanians for a reason which was lost to the mists of time and shoddy translation, was an empire. Bent on taking over the world, they often did so through treaties and trades compared to Anglia's policy of "kill kill kill". This culture is the closest empire to what the cliche view of an empire is: an opressive empire that came, saw and conquered (before a bunch of teenagers with foriegn accents fucked up what they conquered. Seriously.) The gaulanians were considered to be the most cultural of the three nations. Crime was practically non existant based purely because most crime was considered to be "uncultured". Also, the guillotine. At the same time, the emperor, said to be the pinnacle of culture and the centre of all things Angloterran (Anglia disagreed because of A. War and B. Arthur was manipulating from behind the scenes all along. Fools.), the Emperor was, in a strange twist of events, democratically elected, and could serve a maximum of two terms. The Gothians constantly called out the Gaulian policy because it was 'utterly illogical'. (Mind you, the Gothians called everything Gaulian illogical.) Despite this, everyone agreed that no matter how much people hated Gaulanians (countless wars from Anglia proved this, not that anyone liked them too), the food was brilliant. Too brilliant. "This food is bloody brilliant" exclaimed a great number of Anglians before slumping dead from poison. Everyone in Gaulia looked down on everyone else in Terra. Not hard to see why, given that everyone else was either mad or fanatic. Gaulanians would never resort to petty assassination for any purpose except removing Anglians from existance: a duel was far more honourable. The gaulian military was far less psycopathic than the Anglian military. This proved nothing.

Religion and science in Angloterra.

In Angloterra, religion is despised in all forms. While atheism runs rampant, religion is supressed all across the Empire. Religious belief is considered illogical, and, much like our world, it gets in the way of scientific progress. As such, all religious arguments were utterly refuted by scientific evidence, and the argument for morality was utterly crushed simply by many moral people who lived their whole lives helping others were not religious, while some religious people seem to have the same morality as one Father Cornello. However, the empire took it too far. In Anglia, and later the Angloterran empire in full, having a religious belief is subject to torture and execution. And it is clear: Angloterra wishes to destroy all forms of religion or belief in a supernatural diety. Despite the clearly unethical actions caused by the empire, some good came of this action: with no religious supression of science, science flourished to better the lives of many Angloterrans. The scientific and medical advances have resulted in a very high quality of life: a quality that a religious nation that occupied the Terran continent in 1803, Vaticia, never encountered.

Vaticia had a dominant religion called monodeity. Monodeity held that there was one God who created the universe, and everything in it, and even alternate worlds with spirits of God, in just 1 day. The religion also told of a great fire, and how God chose a single human and his family to survive with all of the remaining animals and spirits guided him to water. Then, it talks about the son of God, who died for the sins of man, beast and spiritkind. Of course, evidence refuted this. The religion ran the country, and anyone who would dare refuse, speak out against, not follow, or provide evidence against said religion in Vaticia was tortured and burned to death as a heretic. Vaticia's long term goal was to convert the entire world to their religion, as they believed that the only way to salvation was through their God. And definitely not one of the other dieties worshipped by other religions, of which there were potentially thousands.

As I mentioned, science advanced as well. But given the context of this story, there is another science bar that of Biology, Chemistry, Physics, and their subsets, as well as the study of medicine, that we shall come to in a minute: specifically the effect on medicine.

Formation of the Angloterran Empire.

In 1803, a young Emperor of Gaulia, Louis Atore, decided that the Empires of Anglia and Gaulia needed to unite, and that Terra needed to unite to strenghten Terra's hold on the world as their empires expanded. The response was as follows:

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... No.".

Needless to say, a war broke out. Anglia and Gothia united against Gaulia's goal of a united Terra. The anarchistic state of Cantolitalia was quickly conquored by the alliance for strategic purposes, and Gaulia responded by conquoring the communist nation of the peoples republic of the peoples republic (please do not ask why such a name exists). The war spread across the areas of both empires, draining all the economics, resources, and manpower of all of the three nations. The war went back and forth as more and more minor Terran countries got involved and subsequently conquored, until a Anglian general finally cornered, defeated, captured and executed the Emperor Atore by realising that the red uniforms being worn were useless, and instead chose to use camoflague: A gambit that paid off. However, the war was not over. All three countries were shattered by the war, utterly exhausted and unable to react as many colonies started to declare independance. But the real kicker came when the country dominated by religion, Vaticia, saw that it had the perfect opportunity to invade and force its religion upon the poor, unprepared masses. Many small Terran nations were invaded and saw centuries of valuable scientific knowledge being destroyed by the monodeity religion. Eventually, it reached the stage where it seemed that Terra would fall into a age of technological and scientific regression under religious tyranny.

However, for better or worse, it was not to be.

The Anglian general, credited with defeating Atore, called together a conference between Gaulia, Anglia, and Gothia. He gave his idea for holding up against the Vatician religious state. He gave two ideas that shook the conference, but were carried out anyway.

1. All subjects of our Empires living in our colonies will be granted full citizenship for both them and their families if they join our fight against Vaticia.

Of course, Gaulia objected to this, but later agreed upon hearing the second idea:

2. The empires of Anglia and Gaulia, and the independant country of Gothia, will unite to form a new empire: The Angloterran Empire.

This statement absolutely silenced the conference. No-one could precieve why this man would create something that he had worked so hard to stop Atore from achieving. For at least 6 hours, the conference argued and argued and sipped tea and argued, all the while the general stood his ground, stating that it was the only way to survive and stop the state of Vaticia.

Eventually, after 6 hours, 2 deaths and 9001 cups of tea, the conference came out in the general's favour. Also, the monach of Gothia died of poison placed in his tea immediately after.

The general assumed command of the new armies, some soldiers putting even Anglians to shame (think of the Ghurkas. Think how so much better than British people like me. There is your answer.) And went to war.

And the war was so good, so epic, I must describe it to you. The

scene missing

Nobody could tell you how the general did it. But almost all of his strategies worked. He always anticipated every move that Vaticia would make. He always had backup plans so that whatever happened, he would win. He used his men to their full abilities to gain the full advantage. His armies would defeat armies much larger than his own (however, sometimes this was not pure strategy, but bribes of important government places helped.) While Vaticia also achieved famous victories as well, slaying many Angloterran soldiers, a mixture of new recruits and a united empire held up against the poorly trained Vatician soldiers. And finally, on June 23rd 1821, Vaticia surrendered. But by then, millions lay dead, killed for something so simple as two wars of ideaology. But nobody could stop what happened next. Through manipulations and bkackmail, the general rose to become dictator of Anglia. He smiled as his gambits came to fruition. With his counterparts, the emperor of Gaulia and the monach of Gothia, dead, he made sure that the new ones were simply puppets to him. He even had the audacity to admit this in public! And he knew that a united Angloterra was not needed. It just gave him power. As his soldiers quickly recolonised lost colonies, he sat back and watched autrocities in Vaticia unfold.

In Vaticia, anyone who did not renounce their religion was viciously tortured, watched as they and their loved ones were flayed alive, before, in a cruel twist of irony, were burned alive as they had done to so many 'heretics'. The leaders of the church were sentenced to a life of torture, with death withheld. You can be sure that is the Angloterrans could turn them into Philosophers stones, they would. The general then made an Angloterran charter, to convince the masses that he had a shred of morality left, even as he craved power for himself; Arthur Cunningham.

As of today, Cunningham is pretty much ruling from behind the scenes, and choses where to invade next, and the emperor of Gaulia rules the empire on a day to day basis, while the monach of Gothia runs the three countries and conducts foriegn affairs. Each country opperates independantly as a country, but the empire is ruled jointly. Most if the military is Anglian. Angloterra is currently having difficult relationships with Xing due to refusal of trade of tea, the national drink of Angloterra and, more importantly, stress relief for Anglians (although coffee is becoming popular). A full blown war is likely.

The Angloterran charter

We, the people of Angloterra, pledge these to be the rules, and rights, of all colonies of Angloterra. Those who rebel against Angloterra, or who are confirmed to have been following a religion or supernatural deity, will have these rights stripped from them.

1. All people have a right to life.

2. Any subject of Angloterra may achieve citizenship for them and their families by joining the Angloterran military.

3. Slavery is illegal in all forms, unless said slave was previously a slaver, slave trader, or slave user himself.

4. All subjects have the basic rights that any Angloterran citizen has, including a high quality education, medicine, drinking water that is safe, shelter, food of good quality, access to entertainment, minimum wage, free speech, clean enviroment, technology, job security, insurance, and freedom from discrimination, which is absolutely illogical since it is just the phenotype of someone, and to hate a phenotype that is different than yours, one must hate the genotype, and all of the genotypes that are different to yours, even your own family (Gothians gave the explanation).

5. Any subject showing sufficient intelligence, bravery or morality far above the average Angloterran may be granted citizenship.

6. Children are not to work until they are at least the age of sixteen, and the state will fund them if they take further education.

7. All cultures must be allowed and respected so long as religion is not included.

8. Historical cities and momunents are to be protected.

9. Angloterra will keep having wars to stop the Anglians from going on bloodthirsty psycopathic rampages across our empire.

Alchemy in Angloterra.

Alchemy never developed in Angloterra. A combination of lack of geothermal energy, lack of knowkedge of alchemy, and terrible Anglian weather means that alchemy is not usually carried out or studied. That is not to say that alchemy is an alien concept to Angloterrans: they have been aware since 1776 of alchemy, after Xersia proved to the Gaulanians that it exists in quite a spectacular manor. Angloterrans also acknowledge it as a science: the theories are sound and the evidence exists. However, it is not carried out in Angloterra as even travelling Alchemists have been unable to produce alchemy in Angloterra, despite years of knowledge and practice. This has not stopped people from trying. In 1801, a Gothian inventor developed a device that polarised infrared waves and actually made several interfere, and it was hoped that the frequency could be raised high enough to provide an alchemic reaction, but in the end another Gothian inventor managed to transfer electrical energy from a battery to artificially create a alchemic reaction. However, the energy used far outweighed the benefits of the reaction. Even medicine proved futile: it was easier and safer to treat wounds without alchemy. But a medical breakthrogh came when a transmutation circle was discovered that was illegal in many alchemy using countries. No, not human transmutation, or a philosophers stone, but close.

It is the only reaction considered to be worth the energy put in. The only reaction that saves what can't be saved by medicine. It is a last ditch resort to be used when one cannot be saved by coventional means. It is only reserved for soldiers, and many still serve in the military today.

The more alert amongst you may have noticed that Arthur Cunningham is alive in both 1803 onwards and 1917. While the obvious answer is "he is over one hundred years old!", he is actually very lucky not to have had an alchemic rebound yet, and he is determined and strong willed enough to not commit suicide. Suicide would be a viable option in his case. He has lived a half life, a life incomplete of what we would consider living.

After all, he has been nothing more than an empty suit of armour since 1824.

Xersia

Xersia has a long and quite a interesting history, and many of what is claimed by Xersians to be true is backed up by evidence found amongst the ruins of Xerxes. Xersia is all that remains of two of the most influencial cultures of their time. Xersia today resides as a historic walled city surrounded by miles and miles of barren desert, and the town itself survived through agriculture and trading.

To begin to grasp an understanding of the town, one must briefly delve into the history of the Hassasian people. Hassasia was a desert based nation. The people were often defined by dark skin and an attitude that is kind, helpful, forgiving and often defined as being very moral. The Hassasian people started out as a small culture beside a river known as the waters of life by the Hassasian people, and is geographically known as the river Tengar. The river Tengar was a river that flowed through the desert, bringing life to the area and allowing plants to grow, and allowing Hassasian people to survive. Agriculture quickly developed, and the culture expanded, with settlers moving downriver towards the coast and beginning new cities all along the river Tengar. A couple of cities cut off from the water and surrounded by desert were created, although why a culture would move away from the water remains a mystery, one which historians have long since searched for. The harbour towns along the coast quickly became a bustling hub of trade with many nations, and Gaulia was one of these trading nations. Historians like to believe that the Hassasian people were a flawless society, a nation of peace and order where people led happy lives.

For the most part this was true. While a social divide occured between the rich and the poor, and those who were poor tended to starve to death, many kings attempted to help thoseless fortunate in society.

There was a religion in Hassasia, although it was not a corrupt, obstructive one like the monodiety religion of Vaticia. This religion was encouraged upon the masses because of the ways in which it contributed to social, and sometimes even technological, advancement. The religion was based upon the belief that the river, although geographically possible, was the result of a divine gift from a undescribed being in the belief that the culture that utilises it will use it for the betterment of humanity and to give to others what has been given to them. The religion was actually useful to the extent where even the Gaulalians thought that the religion should be kept going. The Hassassian people eventually reached the stage where they had ten cities: two in the desert, three harbour towns for foriegn trade, and five cities amongst the river Tengar. Because of its location, usage as a trading hub and rich culture, it was never invaded, and thus never needed a military.

Crime and punishment was dictated by the principle of 'an eye for an eye'. The system was often regarded as tough, but fair. However, many kings believed that redemption was possible, and fairly lax crimes such as stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family were often paid back by simply an apology, a explanation, and helping the victim of the crime in some other way worth the cost of the bread. This quickly descended into bartering for well intentioned crimes before the crimes were carried out.

For many centuries, the cities prospered. But it seems that fate cannot allow such a perfect society to exist. No good deed goes unpunished.

One day, a trading ship unwittingly carryed over a waterborne disease, a microorganism that cound infect and kill humans if inhaled in large quantities through infected drinking water, to a coastal town on the river Tengar. The disease quickly spread through the river, infecting all those who depended on the river for their source of water. Quickly, disease and death spread, the governing bodies unable to react to the catastrophe. Quickly, the disease reached all five cities along the Tengar, and messangers bought it to two of the three coastal towns. Unable to evolve quickly enough, the populations of the cities reached unsustainable levels, apart from one of the coastal towns via advice of quarantine from traders, and the two isolated desert towns. The cities collapsed, lost to the sands of the deserts as the cities became ruins.

Of the two remaining costal towns, one was destroyed by a mighty and unpredictable tsunami that lay waste to entire sections of coastlines, and the other was, in a act of barbarity, destroyed by a huge pirate raid looking for wine, gold, slaves, women and blood. Of the two desert cities, one remains today. This is what is today Xersia, and would play a part in the years to come.

The other city simply disappeaed from history: no trace of it has ever been found. No records exist describing it's location. Nobody has ever found it, and nobody has ever come out claiming to be from there. Some say that it may have become part of Xing, others suggest that it became what is now known as Ishval. But, given that Hassasia was found far, far north of Xerxes, and a little bit east, this is unlikely. Many Xersians live in hope that they will one day re-unite with their people to restart the Hassasian kingdom. As one can clearly see, a tragic end for such a great kingdom.

Xerxian conflict

For more information regarding the culture of Xersia, one must look south, to Xerxes, before it was destroyed in a horrific alchemic reaction. It is known that the event occured after the destruction of the Hassasian kingdom, albiet when Is unspecified.

According to Xerxian lore, there spoke a time when a young prince disagreed with the slavery that was legal within Xerxes. He always argued in the courts, and in the palace, and to anyone who would listen, about the immortality of slavery and was firmly in support with the abolishment of it. He utilised his royal patronage to push forward the idea of abolition, and managed to get many people on his side, ranging from the poor workers, freed ex slaves, the support of those currently in slavery, and even some of the most influencial men in Xerxes at the time, including judges, buisness owners and even the advisor to the king, as well as several key figures in the military and their soldiers.

Given his position as future heir, and given the people on his side, it seemed that the only conclusion would be that slavery would finally end within the borders of Xerxes. But he was opposed by his own sister, known today as "The princess of chains". She argued that slavery was morally right, socially acceptable, and above all, productive. The king never took a side, only keeping his loyal general in a state of neutrality. The general never took action, but he knew that the king was old and needed a male heir: and he knew that the king would probably sway to the side of his son just for an heir.

Instead, the prince was found one morning lying in a pool of his own blood.

The public outcry was intense. People roared for justice upon the princessm believing her to be the one behind the assassination. They were not wrong. A riot started, the aim to free slaves, whike the military did nothing on orders of the king. It seemed that the royal bloodline would have to end, but for a good cause. The king prepared to honour his son's last wish, not agreeing with the rioters, which included slaves gaining freedom, but making it clear that he would not intervine so long as the riot did not hurt those not involved. It was good enough for the rioters. But then the princess revealed her ultimate trump card.

She was pregnant, and assumed to be a male baby at that. And she went to her father and swore that she would take her and her baby's life if the king did not agree to stop the riot with military force.

And when faced between abolition of slavery and his own bloodline, he caved in and chose the latter. He shook the morality of his general as he ordered the poor man to kill his countrymen with his soldiers.

The general, ever loyal, agreed, but only with a heavy heart. It was said that he broke down into tears several times as he ordered his men to massacare his own countrymen.

A vicious civil war broke out, but ultimately the military was too strong. The small remainder if those in the riot who were not killed, imprisoned or enslaved fled north, exiled from a kingdom they vowed to never return to, becoming travelling refugees.

The general never recovered. He fell into depression, finding solace in drink, and he fell to a shadow of his former self. He refused to see anyone, never spoke to anyone and openly cried about the deaths of his own countrymen at the hands of him and his men. He became simply an empty shell of a man. But one day, he recovered. He cleaned himself up, became sober, and marched into the palace, back straight as he had always been, and knelt in front of his king as he had done so many times before.

Then he stood up, drew his sword and ran it through the king's heart. He refused to kill the princess because her baby was essentially a hostage, and he could not destroy the bloodline. He was a vicious murderer in his own eyes, but he believed that he had a shred of humanity left not to take the life of a child, or nearly born baby. He left the city in self exile to wander the desert and atone his sins. He was never seen again, and believed to have died alone in the schorching heat of the desert.

Formation of Xersia

Of the refugees from the riot, they eventually reached the last remaining city of the Hassassian people, now no longer the proud culture they once were. The Hassassian people, ever noble and polite, took in the refugees and shared with them the accommodation and defense their city offered. As stories were traded, sympathy for each other grew, and despite their completely different appearance, the two cultures merged into one culture, known as Xersia. The Xerxeans refused to carry on their culture, and although a king no longer existed, many of the laws of Hassasia were used. The city grew, the architecture changing slightly, and eventually mixed races: often golden eyed, dark skinned people, or Xerxean skinned people without golden eyes occured. The government moved to a elected representative of the people who would live in the grand palace and govern affairs of the city for two years before a new representative would have to be elected: one could be re-elected, but only after a four year gap when two other representatives would be in power. This system worked because the city was just the right size for this to occur.

Populations eventually reached a balance to match the agriculture and almost miniscule rainwater that could be found from the desert enviroment. A military, although really a defense force, was created to protect the city if anyone ever tried to invade.

Although abandoned long ago due to the disease contaminating the river Tengar, the Xerxeans took a great interest in the religion of the Hassassians. They declared that the rules set by the religion were a good way to live their life, and although they did not believe in the unspecified diety as the Hassassians did, they adapted the religion to function as a way of life.

And they were almost to flattered to demonstrate, and eventually use and teach, the principles and process of alchemy to the intrigued Hassassians. Hassassians were dumbfounded at first. They had never encountered alchemy before, and this new concept that could change the shape of the earth was seen as a form of magic, although it soon became apparent that the Hassassians could also preform Alchemy, and well. The two cultures instantly bonded over these two things, considering that they both seemed to hold similar moral interests. A religion was set up to the alchemy God, but it quickly disbanded when it became apparant that truth was just a equivalent exchange dick who took various limbs, senses and the occasional younger brother just for trying to bring back the dead.

Interactions with Angloterra

In 1776, the Gaulian military discovered the city of Xersia. At first, they acted as a simple trading nation, trading much needed water, and rare, exotic goods and delecacies from around their empire, often for local recipies, delecacies, and most importantly, alchemic knowledge that traders paid for tenfold of the worth of the knowledge in the hope of one upping their Anglian rivals. But soon the real trades and treaties became apparant. The Gaulanians wanted land, and power. The Xersians spotted this, and quickly started trading alchemic knowledge for muskets, cannons, musket balls and swords, as well as bayonets. Then they trained their military and prepared for war.

And war they got.

The Gaulian military attempted to conquor the town through force. Not surprising: all other options had been exhausted. But the Xersians were outnumbered, outgunned, outrained and outresourced. But they had alchemy.

They pretended to lose, and as the Gaulian military advanced to enter the town, they activated the secret transmutation circles thay had hidden.

And in an almighty reaction, the sand rose up, and fell upon the scared, shocked and worried Gaulanians, followed by the earth. And in just a few seconds, half of the military was buried alive, and left to die screaming unheard for help, or their families, as their fellow soldiers could do nothing.

But the Gaulian commander was not stupid. He quickly engaged in a siege, and destroyed the farms to starve out the Xersians.

While there were farms inside the walls of the city, the food reduced and rations began. Meanwhile, the Gaulanians recieved food from the emoire, and more importantly, water. As they carefully kept an eye out for more circles, they did not advance, and instead kept up the siege for months, possibly years.

Finally, a drought lead to widespread death from thirst. With the manpower reducing, it became clear that the Gaulians could play the long game. The next representative was voted in because he favoured peace: surrendering with favourable terms. A treaty was signed, and the independance of the great city fell to a simple colony of Gaulia. But in a rare pet the dog moment, the victorious commander kept the existance of the way of life based upon the religion of the waters of life to himself, and when the Angloterran empire was formed, with its anti-religious policies, he kept it to himself as the passed away on his deathbed during the war with Vaticia.

It is hard to tell if Xersia was better off under Gaulian/Angloterran rule than before. On one hand, trade resumed, they were allowed to live as normal, and most importantly recieved vital supplies of water for dramatically undercut prices under Gaulia and free under Angloterra. Also, the railway bought in new trades and new jobs, and served to deisolate Xersia from other cultures, as well as new technologies being introduced. On the other hand, Gaulia supressed free speech and increased discrimination, but these ended under the Angloterran empire. However, the Xersians had to pay tribute that they felt was not due, disliked some of the empire's policies, were aware of the threat of death looming above their heads, and knew that fighting back, or having a religion,would have dire effects. Finally, they wanted independance. They preferred to be isolated and left alone, and while they wouldn't mind taking in other cultures, they wanted their own future, free of the influence of the Angloterran empire. And so, on the twenty fourth of may, 1917, Xersia, under representetive Abdul Isosceles, declared independance of Xersia from the Angloterran empire. Angloterra responded by sending the 3rd Angloterran infantry division to suppress the rebellion, under the command of Lt. Colonel Stuart Lancaster.


	2. Chapter 1: Breaking out, breaking in

Ouch. Just saw that the intro was apparently six thousand words. So much for brief. In any case, the actual story begins now, It will start humourous and a bit cliche, but an introduction to the story serves as a little taster of what my writing style will be like, a.k. rubbish, and demonstrates just how bloody annoying using a tablet can be. Don't worry, humour will reduce and the morality will grey later on. I promise to make the story a little more interesting as I go along the chapter is just so that I can fully stress that the Angloterrans are not as nice in practice as their charter main issues appear to be auto corrected capital I's in full words, k replacing l, a mix up of I and O, and occasional missed spaces. I will do my best to counteract these errors, since I acknowledge the fact that a faulty keyboard is indeed no excuse for neglince, but please stay wary of these facts. I feel that reading the story should not be ruined by sheer carelessness on my behalf, so I will go over and correct this once the story is over, but for now let us begin. Once again, please review and point out if I am falling into any cliches: I will invoke some if the situation demands it or i choose to parody or lampshade said trope or cliche. After all, the tropeless tale is impossible.

...

Chapter 1

...

Across the desert, the large ecosystem focused upon abiotic factors that determined the life and the conditions that served as natural selection pressure, a Scorpion crawled across the sand, in search of it's next meal. For ages the Scorpion had not eaten, finding a lack of food in this environment. All of his adaptations, the stinger containing toxins that could lead to all kinds of biochemical changes in its smaller prey, and scuttled along, unhindered. Admittedly, it had missed a golden opportunity today. A Tarantula wasp had been engaged in a deadly struggle to lay her eggs inside a spider, but the spider had escaped, and the wasp left, denying the Scorpion the substance he so badky required. But alas, the Scorpion scuttled along, searching for an insect.

Then he found it. A dead, hideously deformed insect that looked as if it had been caught under the wheels of a train.

As the Scorpion devoured its recently deceased victim, the Scorpion remained blissfully unaware of the train that had crushed said insect, almost a mile away and travelling further away. Further inspection of the surroundings revealed that the insect lay dead upon the train tracks that the train had travelled on. Really, it should have been obvious to you, dear reader, as to what had caused this unfortunate cease of existence in a conscious insect. The train sped along, its inhabitants remaining unaware of the event that had occured several miles back.

One of the occupants held out his arm, revealing a ticket that was grasped gently enough so that the ticket did not fall out of his grasp, but offered no resistance as he forfieted the ticket to the second man, standing up.

The man picked up the ticket, taking it from the other's grasp, and carefully produced a small metal device from his pocket. Pressing down upon this device hard, he returned the ticket, sans a small circular disc in the corner, to the man with the same grip the man had given him as the ticket was reunited with its owner, a young man, barely older than eighteen, with blond hair tied at the back in a braid, and left to check on the other passengers. The man replaced the ticket into his pocket, and stared out of the nearby window into the vast nothingness that was the desert.

Meanwhile, in a completely different carriage that had already had the conductor pass through sat one Edward Elric.

Edward was finishing a sandwich that he had purchased from the food trolley earlier. Like the previous chap we talked about who shall never be mentioned again, he also had blond hair tied back in a braid, and was barely older than eighteen.

He had achieved a lot in his life before he was even this age. If he were to talk to the lady that sat on the opposite side of the asile, she would think him mad. But we shall not delve into what had happened, for that I assume you already know. In case you didn't, one professor Wikipedia also inhabited this train, despite the controversies that surrounded him, especially the fact that many of the notes he kept hidden in his foot were said to be from uncredible sources. Instead, we shall focus on his journeys in the west, and what has bought him east.

Ever since making it clear that he was retired from the military, he had journeyed south and west, hoping to expand both his and Amestris' alchemic knowledge.

In fact, he had encountered nothing due to diplomatic relations between Amestris and Creta currently being on the "absolute war, and any tourist is a spy" way of friendly, helpful diplomatic relationships. As such, he could not even enter Creta without being tortured and executed. If he did that, then he was probably too dumb to live.

Augero had little in the way of alchemic knowledge. That is not to say that he enjoyed his time there: ever since the new regime had come in, peace talks had been pursued by Amestris. Creta refused, Drachma simply said "why bother, because Briggs", but Augero had accepted the treaty, a white peace, in open arms, and Edward had been fascinated by the culture there. But ultimately, there was little in the way of Alchemy. On his eighteenth birthday, he had decided to instead travel east, keen to learn about Alkahestry from Xing, and seek out his brother.

Instead, he got a wild goose chase.

According to Mei Chang, who herself was difficult to track down, he found out that Alphonse had gone even further east to investigate reports of cellular alchemy, in the hopes of finding a cure for the Chimeras that he had travelled with.

He found out from a group of very scared bandits screaming about beasts that they probably went on a certain road to the far east of Xing. It is there that he came to the country of Marsidia.

People were pretty reclusive about alchemy there, only research institutes actually using it. It seemed that the local military police used a exclusive type that acted by sending an electrical signal that set off all of one's receptors at the same time. Apparantly, although unconfirmed due to lack of scientific testing, it caused an information overload, which caused the target to fall unconcious if used more than once on the same person in quick succession. It was also non lethal, and was used to capture criminals with minimum risk.

However, it was only allowed to be used by the local military police because it caused a great amount of pain in people affected by the alchemy. As such, he was not granted permission to learn it. However, he was told that military figures from other nations who were trustworthy were taught this alchemy in the hope that they will use it only as a force of good and a last ditch effort, or for safe incapitation when other forms of alchemy may prove fatal.

To his surprise, he met Jerso the very next day.

Being hugged by a half man, half toad may be a little disorienting for some, but Edward new Jerso was only being friendly. Over a morning coffee in a cafe, Jerso explained what had happened. Apparantly, Alphonse had caught word of this cellular alchemy and thought that he could learn, or at least be introduced to someone who could help, a way of either curing or pernamently suppressing the animal traits of the two chimeras. Instead, he was recommend to one of the country's top professors, who was a master at the suppressimg of traits in animals, and he offered to actually attempt to cure the two for his latest research project, after hearing the two's stories, and learning of so many more within the borders of Amestris. So far, progress was good: at least two traits had been suppressed in one year.

But Alphonse did not stay unnoticed for long. His golden eyes were quickly identified, and he was introduced to the city of Xersia, and quickly left when reccomended to find out more, intregued by the city containing Xersian descendants.

Also, a fact that actually shocked Edward, Alphonse had been accepted as a national alchemist for Amestris. Admittedly, Alphonse had the better side of the bargin. He could fund his and Edward's journeys, study and bring back alchemy to Amestris straight to people like Mustang, or as Edward preferred to think, Armstrong, who would only use it for noble goals. Also, Alphonse stood little chance of going to war, since he was a foriegn affairs alchemist: he was supposed to find new alchemy and introduce Amestrian alchemy, as well as warn others about the taboos that he and Edward had Ignored; who better? On top of this, Alphonse already knew lots of people, and due to what he had done with his brother, was practically military already, and Edward knew that Alphonse was a hell of a lot more responsible than he was, however much It damaged his pride of being the bigger brother. Despite this, Edward assumed that Mustang pulled some strings. Alphonse was put one rank higher than Edward was before he gladky retired early: Lt. Colonel, and the official reason was that he had been with, despite not being a member of, the military for years, but Edward suspected that Mustang was simply trying to tick him off a bit. Quite a masterful way to do so, admittedly, short of sneaking a few inches of wood onto everybody's shoes to really piss of Edward (that plan was still in operation). However, the series of events were shocking, to say the least.

For some indeterminable reason, according to Jerso, he still lugged around that suit of armour, although he had shrunk it to a more reasonable human size. Nobody knew why.

In anycase, after bidding goodbye and good luck, Edward went to find the city, also in search of his brother. It did not take long to get the location of the city and a brief history. More Importantly, there was a way of getting there. A great railway made by co-operation from several nations. It was mostly Angloterran, but the part Edward was interested in was the part that went through Marsidia, through a couple of countries, before reaching the Angloterran border and a large station In the desert. There, it forked, either going towards the Angloterran mainland, or east to Xersia, and that route was the one he was on. Eventually, it would turn south and travel through northen Xing, famed for its trade, before returning to Marsidia. Currently, he thought of why he was going. Alphonse had probably already moved on: that brother of his just seemed to absorb information, which was great for moving around but rubbish for re-unions.

Still, Edward supposed, the real reason was that he wanted to carry out this journey was to see if he could find other Xerxian descendants. He never had a chance to ask his father: yes, he finally thought of him as that, but maybe he could gleam knowledge for himself that could help him understand both alchemy and Alkahestry more.

Edward realised that in his thoughts, he had forgotten all about his sandwich. He took another bite and listened to the sounds of the train heading towards Xersia through the desert. Although he no longer had to sleep his brothers share, he still got tired easily, and one reason for this may be that his automail; the leg and the joint that still existed on his right arm, somehow engulfed by flesh and blood, could take their tolls in terms of endurance.

And as he slept, the sandwich felt dejected, despite not being sentient or having any kind of ability to think for itself. It was a perfectly good sandwich, made fresh on board the train using fresh ingredients from the last station. Why wasn't this young man eating it?

...

Edward wasn't entirely sure as to his reasoning for awakening from his slumber. It might have been the jolt of the train as the train started slowing down. Maybe it was the dab of brakes. Edward sat up, choosing to forgo yawning or rubbing his eyes and instead studied the rather new sight of the train pulling into a station. The station appeared to be simple: an open air station, with fences surrounding it and the inevitable bridge over the railway line. A large depot was also nearby, apparantly for storing incoming goods to what he assumed was Xersia, but too his surprise he could not see any civilians at the station. In fact, even the ticket booth appeared to be empty, like the desert around it. The only people at the station were soldiers of some kind. What was peculiar to Edward about these men was that they seemed to be much better equipped than the Amestrian military. They seemed to wear camoflague, in contrast to Amestrian soldiers, and actually seemed dressed for desert warfare: Short shirts and for some of the soldiers, shorts. They also appeared to have protection of some kind: They all had bowie helmets, which seemed to cover the face, causing Edward to wonder why this milirary were dehumanising their soldiers; it was like they were wearing signs saying "shoot me! I'm expendable! " However, another peculiar thing was that they all had some kind of webbing of straps and pouches on. Edward supposed it was for carrying supplies, and he was not wrong. A quick glance confirmed Edwards suspicions that this army was far more technologically advanced than Amestris. The rifles seemed to be better made and, Edward guessed, more accurate. The sub machine guns, clips on the side, strangely enough, appeared to be better made and produced in larger quantities than the ones in Amestris. To his surprise, he swore that he could see a tank, much like the ones that had been produced in Briggs, albiet even more advanced. But what really got to Edward was why the train doors were not opening.

His answer came when the train conductor stepped through the door that separated carriages, and exclaimed the reason why.

"I have just been informed that due to an Angloterran military lockdown on the city of Xersia, this station has been rendered off limits, with absolutely no exceptions save for official Angloterran military personal, until furthur notice upon order being restored. We have also been informed that under the bill of emergency lockdown of areas in conflict, the Angloterran military reserves the right to arrest and interrogate any person or persons who are found to be in the lockdown area, although torture is not permitted. Ladies and gentlemen, we appologise profoundly for this change of events, but as you can see we cannot do much. I ask that you stay in your seats as we cool our boiler: The desert heat has, I'm afraid, affected us and we need to let the train cool down before we continue. We have discussed this, and the Angloterran military has permitted this as long as nobody leaves the train. So once again, we apologise, but I believe we may not exit, but we are stuck here for ten to twenty minutes."

Edward quickly assessed the situation. This was quite worrying. Obviously, the very fact that he was stuck on board was an issue, but this was his stop: he knew that he mignt not get another chance for years. Not to mention the fact that he knew enough, having been in the military, to tell that something was going on; the military here was obviously cracking down hard on the local populace, and the fact that the local populace was descended from Xerxes, where he could have a chance of finding out about history, culture, and above all, alchemy, of Xerxes, and maybe understand how this relates to Amestris.

Not to mention his personal interest in the conflict: Alphonse may have gotten caught up in all of this. Not intentionally: he would try not to get involved if he coukd help it, or would try to help ease tensions to save lives, but he could have been in Xersia when the conflict occured. In fact, this seemed to be the most likely solution; Alphonse would have been likely to have been studying, And Edward knew Alphonse would not let people die if he could help it; He had that sort of nature.

Still, it did not change the fact that getting off the train was an act only the bravest, and largest, of fools would do. The military had guns, lots of men, and even tanks, while Edward had alchemy no longer. The conflict could be supressed, while Edward could research Alkahestry a little bit, or even meet Ling Yao. He hadn't done so on his way through Xing. Alphonse had a way with words, was mature enough to actually be a voice of reason, and if the worst came to the worst, he could handle himself: he knew alchemy, probably alkahestry too, and he knew a little bit about martial arts. In fact, Edward was pretty convinced that both of them could take on the entire military individually and win; after all, they survived Izumi, the friendly neighborhood psycopath. Not to mention that Alphonse may not even be there, or the fact that the town may not have what he seeked; an all to common occurrence in his search for the philosophers stone,

Edward chuckled inwardly at himself for even thinking of getting involved. What madness drove him to even consider this possibility?

Apparantly, this madness appeared to be the evil, inescapable device known as a plot. Unfortunately, fate had already decided upon this as the plot of the story, as well as the author's planning, and Edward found himself contradicting himself in a flash and deciding, against his better judgement when he weighed up the benefits and risks, to escape the temporary prison that was the train.

Please don't blame him. The plot marches on, and any ideas or rationality on behalf of the characters involved is often the victim trampled underfoot. Still, one must ask how quickly this story would end were Edward allowed to do what he liked. Edward would probably be blaming Truth for this. Or Mustang.

The first thing that came to his mind was how to actually escape the train. The train had stopped, there were no bends further ahead he could leap of at that he could see, soldiers everywhere, and all looking alert. Not to mention that the only exits were immediately obvious and were being watched. In fact, leaving the train was beginning to look to be an impossibility.

But, once again, fate delt his plot device.

Nearby, on another train track, lay a second train. While arriving, the train had been spotted, and a freedom fighter/terrorist (depending on which faction one asks) had used the absurdily spacious sewer under the city to sneak out of and plant a bomb on the train. The contents were actually unknown to both sides. The Xersians assumed that it was filled to the brim with weapons. The Angloterrans assumed that it was filled to the brim with orphans and puppies. In actual fact, it was filled to the brim with orphaned puppies all equipped with weapons. But the contents were not important. What is important is that the bomb went off and the train exploded spectacularly. Somehow, defying the laws of physics, nobody bar the weapon carrying orphaned puppies inside was hurt. (Actually, this is a lie. It was only revealed after two Angloterran soldiers died from their wounds that they refused to report their injuries, which might have saved their life, because it would be too much of a hassle to the already busy military doctor).

"Oi! What the bloody hell was that!" Yelled an Angloterran, casting his eyes to the wreckage of the second train which was conviniently not mentioned earlier.

"Bloody terrorists!" Replied a second, pulling out his rifle and ordering everyone In the train to calm down.

"Terrorists? Really? That's the best they can come up with? Is this some kind of 'your terrorists are our freedom fighters' routine?" Inquired a third.

"I don't know mate. I've never read literature ." responded a fourth soldier.

While the soldiers ran towards the wreckage and moved in to arrest the person who had committed the crime, and the third and fourth soldiers argued over the presence of .paper, a genre savvy soldier quickly called out an order.

"Keep men back In case someone on the train tries to leave!"

"Yes sir!" Came the response from the female soldier nearby, who proceeded to give out orders to some soldiers about to run to the train. Edward was utterly confused by the series of events, but saw his opportunity to escape as a panicked riot of people tried to leave through the small doors, fearful that their train would be the next target, although with justified reason. Many of the crowd were simply tourists, not wanting to die and just wanting to get away from what could be their eventual tomb if the bomber had any friends. The panicked horde attempted to run through the doors like water rushed through a plughole, and the horde felt the pressure that resulted from the inevitable stampede as the Angloterran soldiers held them back, eventually resorting to bayonets to ensure that the crowd stayed inside the trains, even as the crowd feared for their lives. Edward saw a golden opportunity to do what he would consider badass (baddonkey, at least how the Anglians see it)

He went to a different door that the riot was not at, and simply strolled out of the door, walked down the platform, and climbed over the fence. Haters gonna hate.

Said haters were the three soldiers pointing guns at him that had been hiding in ambush in anticipation that someone would utilise the chaos to escape into the city, while a few gun shots confirmed that the bomber was not given much of a trial.

"And where do you think your going, sonny?" Asked one of the soldiers, without even a trace of originality.

"Well... fuck" was the only reply Edward could give before a rifle stock was bought down hard on his head. Unfortunately for Edward, he did not fall unconscious from this. Or was it fortunate? Who knows.

Well the Angloterran whose face connected hard with Edwards automail foot was not fortunate. Having neglected to wear his face concealing helmet, he got the full impact of the foot. Given that he was suprised by being kicked by metal, and was wrong genre savvy to assume that the blow to the back of the head meant unconsciousness, he fell backwards in pain and dropped his loaded and cocked gun, which misfired and sent the second soldier ducking for cover. As that soldier yelked duck, the third soldier, who had a strange phobia after falling into a duck pond and being pecked at by ducks as a young child, started shooting wildly and rapidly with his rifle.

Edward pulled himself up and wondered whether this story was supposed to be serious, a parody, both, or a serious story that parodies certain elements. Deciding to leave it for later, he started running away from the madman firing at invisible ducks. Realising that the other soldiers, possibly also in ambush, would have doubtlessly heard all of the commotion, he decided to do what every other protagonist had always done when faced with overwhelming numbers of soldiers.

Casually stroll away. Yes, of course I meant he ran.

Admittedly, there was not much he could do. He had shown to the Angloterrans that he would fight back, and now they would probably chase after him. He just had to get to the town.

A gunshot exploded through the air, and a bullet whizzed past, a warning shot. But Edward could not do much other than continue running, but he started to utilise erratic movements that would hopefully throw off the attackers shot.

But his attacker, the second man who had come out from behind the crates now that duck man had run out of munitions to fire, had other ideas. The man may have been weighted down by his gear, but he was taller than Edward, and his longer legs covered more ground. Pretty soon, he caught up to Edward, and with one line pretty much sealed his fate.

"Stop right there, shortarse!"

Now, I should probably point out that Edward was a lot taller than he used to be. He was also a lot more mature. As such, he did not go into a fullblown rant over the insult. But his beserk button had been pressed, and the poor soldier did not even begin to realise it.

Cursing his height, Edward complied with the man's order. He stopped, turned round, and as the man readied his rifle, Edward charged forward and thrust forward with a punch.

The soldier reacted quicker than Edward expected, and jumped backwards, before sidestepping the follow up kick. The soldier responded by trying to kick Edward, who easily blocked it, but the soldier had anticipated this and bought the barrel of the rifle towards the eighteen year old's head. But Edward had no quarrels about fighting dirty, and winded the man by kicking him extremely hard in the groin with his automail leg. However, the man had had the foresight to wear a crotch guard, which had just paid for itself ten times over. However, he lost his grip on his rifle, which Edward took and smashed the butt roughly into the man's chest before finally flooring him by twisting the man's ankle with a powerful kick from his automail.

Satisfied, Edward discarded of the rifle away from the wounded man's reach, then proceeded to run further away. Admittedly, that soldier had caught him by surprise a few times; his skills must have waned. He made a mental note to spar with Alphonse if he ever managed to find him amidst all of the chaos. Still, he currently had bigger problems. It was probably related to the tank coming after him.

Admittedly, it just showed that they were done toying around. The machine gun mounted on top constantly missed Edward, but it was close enough to make it clear that "If you don't go where we want you to go, you die". Edward knew that he had to find cover, quickly. If he could get close enough to the tank, he knew that he could take out the gunned and the driver.

Instead, a group of Angloterrans got in his way.

Edward rammed the first one aside, completely dodged the seconds lunge, causing the man to fall over in an embarrassing manor. He kicked the third sharply in the leg with his normal leg, then punched him hard in the chest, before a shot smacked into his right leg. Luckily for Edward, the shot did not shatter or dislocate the leg, and although he staggered, he did not fall. This caused the man who had shot him to raise an eyebrow in confusion, since the soldier had never encountered automail before and was confused by Edward's lack of reaction to the shot.

However, the fourth soldier used his stagger to catch up to and tackle Edward. Edward responded by using his fall to kick upwards, pushing the man backwards before kicking the back of the leg, making the man fall to the ground, and then knocking him out with a well timed kick to the head that rattled the man's head around inside the helmet, and contributing to the impact of the kick.

But now Edward was screwed. He was on the ground, he was covered by rifles and even a tank was after him. Talk about an overreaction. For some reason, Edward looked at the soldier he had knocked out. The soldier was not the same ethnic group as the soldiers around him, being of a darker skin tone, but he was an N.C.O. while the men around him were of a lower rank. Edward decided that the Angloterran military might not be racist based upon a quick observation, but that did not change the fact that they were currently very, very angry with him. But as he stood up, hands in the air, the soldiers lost some of their nerve, and some even stepped back.

"Woah, watch out lads; we've got a baddonkey over here."

...

Today was not a good day for lieutenant John Manderson.

First off, he had to file a report for the destruction of the train. The problem for the man was not the report, but actually getting a chance to start it. The sheet of paper that he was supposed to write upon was simply a tundra. Of course, nothing really caught his attention these days. Sure, Lancaster would shout his ear off if the report wasn't finished, but currently he had to interrogate the Xersian that had just spat in his face. Officially, he had to interrogate, contain and potentially execute the prisoner, but the other prisoner had made things problematic, to say the least.

You see, while Angloterra was brutal when necessary, the empire had to maintain good diplomatic relationships with other countries, and generally torturing rebellious youths within earshot of those from other countries led to bad diplomatic views on the empire. While the man had golden eyes, a quick search of the papers revealed him to be Amestrian, a country that Angloterra had not heard much of. The problem was that this prisoner would have to wait until Thursday before the next train would arrive.

To make matters even worse, his aide, the second lieutenant, was asking about the Xanatos gambit in operation. This was even worse, since his second lieutenant was supposed to know, and he had not had the chance to inform the man yet, since the man involved in said gambit was the one he was supposed to interrogate. To make matters worse, the man seemed to be an accomplice to the recently deceased bomber of the train, at least he seemed to be involved in the little rebellion, so his information was vital to the report that currently lay in neligence. And of course, the man, a mixed race of Xerxian and Hassassian, dark skin as an evolutionary advantage in the sunlight of this desert pierced by the sharp contrast of the golden iris' that was his eyes, was one of those alchemists. That was why he had his hands tightly secured behind him by handcuffs, and his fingers crudely bound to said hands to avoid the production of an transmutation circle. As an added, but maybe unnecessary precaution, his feet were also bound.

Furthermore, the soldiers refused to release the Amestrian prisoner from his restraints. Justified, as the guy was a lot tougher than he looked, but it didn't do wonders for the relations side of things, even when the reason why was explained to him.

And now, his aide was pointing out that thre was only one cell, little more than a modified basement in a storage shed nearby to the station, and since It was clear that he could not get any information at this rate, the man would have to be put into the same cell.

The revolutionary and the outsider. You all meet in a cell. Honestly, there was no doubt how that one would turn out. Hopefully, it would not be the type that involved a lot of sore heads.

And that was why the gambit was so important. You see, he knew that in one of two sewer sections, a hideout of rebels assisted movement of soldiers to start bombing the Angloterrans. This storehouse was above the outflow of one sewer. If the prisoner escaped, chances were that he would use the sewer. He had placed some bugs in the last raid, little more than hidden microphones, and if the prisoner made contact, then he would have to simply make a few arrangements and his soldiers would be prepared to raid the outpost by following the man before the sentries warned everyone else, as had been done the last few times, by releasing poisonous gas that would at least stop the attacks from this part of the sewer. But given the small amount of the gas actually avaliable, he could only release gas into one of the two sewer outflows. If the prisoner did not make contact, then the rebeks were in the other outflow. If the prisoner did not escape, then he could torture it out of him. Sure, it broke the Angloterran code to some extent, but honestly, Lancaster was reasonable. When his men were on the line, he did what it took to keep them alive. That was why they had not invaded the city yet. Lancaster suspected a trap, like the Gaulians had found out more than a century ago.

Even so, despite the fact that Lancaster would understand why the report would not be finished, the Lieutenant colonel would rant on about how bored he was.

In anycase, the lieutenant knew that whatever happened, he would find out the location of the little outpost that had eluded him for so long. If Lancaster had done it, the Lieutenant knew, then the outpost would be gone via a similar Xanatos gambit by now. But alas, as he ordered the prisoner to be returned to his cell, he realised that no matter what, he lost. The report would never be finished on time, and it was too bloody hot, even in this storage shed, to think clearly.

Meanwhile, the so called cell lay below the lieutenants feet. Compared to the rest of the storage shed, the basement was a lot cooler. It was still almost unbearably hot, and it was the stuffiness of the room that realy forced its way down Edwards throat more than the heat. The room was quite small, but was ultimately about half the size of the shed above it. The clutter of a service long since replaced by the need for a cell remained, none of it useful for breaking the handcuffs that still bound Edward's hands together. Below Edward, the sewer produced an awful smell, and the blood and animal corpses that flowed along with the slow movement of the water only served to worsen it. If anyone had bothered to investigate, they would find also the corpses of humans, who may have died either through skirmishes in the sewers outside the city between Angloterran forces and the rebels, or the hastily disposed of remains of victims of the city's more violent inhabitants. It remained questionable as to wether the Angloterrans chose this to be cruel, or wether it was simply the most practical of places near the station to store prisoners.

Edward slumped down against the wall. Honestly, he didn't know what posessed him to do such a silly thing. This was normally the part where a facepalm and a cry of "Stupid brother" came from a walking suit of armour, but he wasn't actually there at the moment. However, Elric brother telepathy conviniently awoke at that moment, so, while not a walking suit of armour, the above exchange did occur despite no words or even thoughts being traded between the two.

Actually, this may not have happened. Or maybe It did. But the story had to move on, and a bored Angloterran soldier opened the basement and chucked a man inside, before slamming it behind him.

The man slowly got up, or at least as well as one could if one had their hands and feet bound, then looked up in surprise at Edward. Of course, this man had not expected to have a cellmate. Now he knew the reason why the Angloterrans had not simply tortured him. After all, the guy looked foreign.

"Couldn't resist snooping around the place, eh? Don't worry. I honestly can't blame..."

The man stopped his speech when he saw Edward's eyes. He, having said colour of eyes himself, fell into an immediate, but justified based on lack of full knowledge of the situation, assumption of the man sitting in front of him, hands handcuffed together in front of him.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were foreign. I see you returned to fight for your cit-"

"Actually, I'm not from round here. I'm from a country far in the southeast, known as Amestris." Edward cut off the man quickly before the man could assume further.

"Then... how do you have those golden eyes! Very few people leave here, and Xerses was completely destroyed... Sorry, its just that this whole situation is a little bit alien to me. I wasn't aware of any other descending cultures."

Edward looked at the man warily. Indeed, the man appeared to have golden eyes, a feat which did at least grab the attention of Edward in a vicious chokehold and refused to let go. Edward realised that the mind which had inquired about alchemy for so long would simply do exactly the same about those eyes that defined a descendant of Xerxes. But Edward did not get to his position by being a fool, despite how the plot had made him seem as such. Thus, he maintained the idea that this man may very well be violent, and maybe had been arrested for a reason. It was likely the fact that he was a rebel, but for all Edward knew, the rebels seemed to blow up trains for a living. Still, he decided to inquire regardless, since the other man could not do much due to his restraints.

"Uhh... It gets a bit difficult to explain. Basically, I am descended from a survivor of Xerxes. How did your culture get yours?"

A knock on the door stopped the conversation abruptly.

"Oi! Shut up in there!"

The Angloterran soldier behind the door could hear the conversation perfectly. However, as a precaution, a microphone was hidden in the ceiling. The Angloterrans were known for being pretty savvy, often finding counter points to heroric actions. However, in this case, the soldier was ordered not to intervene unless they tried to exit via the door. He simply put on headphones and listened to the whispering.

"Erm... eh... agh! Damn it!"

"Are... you okay? It currently looks from this end like you're having a siezure. That, or you have just won top prize for the best snake impression".

A silenced chuckle came from the room, and the soldier outside smiled briefly at this. But when the chuckling ended, the man who was being watched lowered his tone to the serious tone that meant that he was planning something.

"Look... I should probably tell you that I'm an alchemist. Heard of them? Anyway" said the man refusing to give time for Edward to answer. "I'm trying to draw a transmutation circle, but... looks like they bound my fingers to my hands. Ummm... Could you do me a favour and untie them? I rather wouldn't die by some psycopathic Anglians, thanks."

"Anglians?"

"They basically became Angloterra."

"Tell me later. For now, I have a favour to ask of you. How can I be sure that you will not simply dispose of me after I free you, or go ahead and blow up some innocent people? After all, you do act like a cliche friend. What's not to say that you're a bastard who I want to punch really hard in the face? I can be a bit of a dick myself, you know."

An arkward silence filled the room. This caused the man to smile at this question. He turned in interest, revealing a coy smile pursed upon his thin lips.

"You are not as stupid as your hair implies, and I am pretty sure that you are always a dick, but that just makes me like you more. To answer your question, what if I told you... wait, I just realised what I said."

"What?"

"Nevermind, I seem to have forgotten to. Basically, I can safely tell you that this paticular Angloterran division would happily torture me. It Is illegal under Angloterran code of warfare, but their leader, Lancaster I believe, would not risk the lives of his men to uphold said code. We lose the rights granted by the charter, but the code still applies. But if Lancaster is in command; he's loyal, but his men come above his honour slightly. Still, won't blame him. He is a war obsessed psycopath, even by Anglian standards, but he looks out for his own. But if that is not reason enough for you, I see myself as a soldier as much as a rebel. I only target Angloterran soldiers, and while I did help blow up a train earlier today, it only held weapons. I don't see civillians as combatants, but as those who should not fight. Yes, I probably will kill, but right now, it is garunteed torture and execution, or possible end to Angloterra's chokehold on this beautiful city. Besides, can I trust you? Why are you still in handcuffs?"

Edward realised that in terms of speech, this man had him outranked by one hundred miles. He had admitted that he had tried to kill Angloterran soldiers. But then again, had Hawkeye not killed Ishvalians? Still, now that it was clear, Edward decided to not trust him completely, but he realised that he could not leave him to die, even if he was a killer, if the man was a soldier. That, and Alphonse would save him anyway. Nobody should have to die by unjust torture, Edward thought.

"To reply to your own, I tried to escape the train, and beat up a bunch of those bastards before they used a tank!"

"O rly?"

"Ya, rly."

"I doubt the tank bit, but the soldiers seems a good reason to keep you in restraints. They did reference you as mad, bear in mind. Good to see those Angloterrans taken down a notch. So I suppose that we have a mutual disagrement. May I suppose that you will rescue me anyway?"

Well that was one way of putting it. Edward did, however, have an ace up his sleeves. He found a loose piece of metal and started drawing a transmutation circle on the floor.

"Is that a?"

"Yep! Still, I can't activate it like I used to, so you will have to do so."

The man looked puzzled as he slammed his hands down on the circle, and broke his hands free as he unbound his feet and his fingers. He drew another circle on the ground using the same piece of metal.

"Here, I'll do you. So, what do you mean used to?"

"Long story"

In a flash of light as the exothermic formation of the bonds released energy in the form of visible light, Edward's handcuffs fell away. Getting up, Edward eyed the man as he drew a third transmutation circle upon the ground. This reaction resulted in a gaping hole into the sewers below. The man turned back to Edward.

"I suspect this will not sway you, but I will tell you that if you do not follow, the Angloterrans cannot do much other than put you on the next train. But if you follow, you officially enter a warzone, rebel or civillian. Still, you don't want to leave behind all of these answers, do you?"

"You bastard! How do you keep guessing?"

"I'm a terrorist and a freedom fighter! I see ambition in your eyes. Noble ambition, I admit. I doubt there are many better people. Still, you seek answers, and I"

Edward was not easily bored, but now was one of those moments when he had a 'get on with it' reaction under the disguise of the Angloterrans hearing all of the commotion.

Indeed, the soldier had heard, and happily removed the headphones and went upstairs to where the lieutenant had comedically strapped a microphone to the left side of his face.

"Sir, he escaped. Turns out the other chap knew how to do alchemy, but could not actually carry out the process."

The lieutenant smiled evilly, his eyes turned a horrifying shade of red, and he began his blatant reference.

"I've won... Exactly as planned..."


	3. Chapter 2: Camp life and city strife

Okay. I am well aware the last chapter was rubbish. Cliche, too much humour and black and white morality, and a bland support character and the most cliche escape ever. Also, I noticed that a part of it failed to upload. The line "I don't know mate, ive never read literature . Should actually say literature (blatant copy of tv ). I shall do my best to remedy this, but I want to finish this story first. Still, now I can grey out the morality somewhat. I also get to introduce a few of the factions that will wind up in a gambit pileup: later on, see if you can guess who wins (reveal your guess, if you like). Yay. I can finally reveal the city, which I believe will be a bit more interesting than a train station and a storage shed. Still, get to move a bit away from the action and a bit into the preferred side of things: gambits, manipulations and horrific slaughter offscreen. Yay for backstabbing. Still, new characters to introduce, and new people to see. Better get cracking on.

...

The sky, since the gradual rotation of the planet had caused since it was created in the phenomenom known as sunset, was quite splendid. The sun was still visible, a great blot upon the night sky that illuminated itself via energy released through the nuclear fusion that occured within its core. Yet the sun was receeding, falling to the inevitable rotation of the planet, and falling as it was sheathed behind the sand bank that rose behind the great walled city of Xersia, sand coloured stone staying rooted upright, even through the wear of the desert where many multicellular organisms had met their end. The walls remained as strong and imposing, yet as gentle and protective, as they were since their creation. Though cracks of the gradual erosion by bith the desert and even the occasional rain ran across the surface, the walls held fast as the sky above them, a grand display of reds, purples and pinks, almost as if an artist had stood up to the sky, painting the empty space as though it were a canvas, to produce a most eliquite piece that shone beauty upon those who were fortunate enough to see said event.

Indeed, such a fine scene the sunset upon the city of Xersia was, that it was one of the national gallery of fine art, the Grandur in Gaulia,s prized possessions that attracted a crowd ranging from the all powerful aristocracy to the lowliest begger, even to those who lived in squander under the darker times that Gaulia was ashamed of, to even Gaulia's , most bitter of enemies, or even the Anglians and the Vatacians, for it was decided that such a piece of fine art should be viewed by all. The painter had been lost to time, suffering the fate of poverty, but his legacy, even though he was never known, was immortalised by this tranqual, yet striking scene.

And those who had been fortunate enough to see that scene in reality, the true scene made the painting pale by comparison, the simple laws of the universe that governed everything outdoing even the most masterful of craftsmen.

It is a shame that, despite a surprising number of induviduals in the Angloterran's main military camp finishing dinner early to observe said scene, won over by the splendour of such a famous scene, not all shared their enthusiasm.

It was not of the bah humbug variety, but Lieutenant colonel Lancaster briefly observed, took in the scene, and promptly discarded it from his memory.

Truthfully, the lieutenant colonel was bored.

This was nothing new for the man. While he marched back into his command tent, many thought that his brain was simply incapable of picking up stimulating stimuli. It had been suggested that the receptors across the synapses of his nerve cells were as faulty as a flute without holes.

They may have been right. He was not that paticularily interested by certain events. Ever since birth, his condition had only advanced his psychological dissociation from reality. Even his own mother burning to death in a house fire discerned no reaction from him because it was boring that the fire did not try and move across country to his private school to consume him as well. The man had, and would admit, to taking every known drug, both legal and illegal, not for the stimulating effects, but to interest himself with the withdrawl effects. But that was boring to. He recovered too quickly. He had also engaged in duels. These were also boring, since he always won due to being pragmatic. A paticularily interesting example was when he offered his opponent a choice of swords or guns. His opponent took a sword. He took a gun and promptly shot the fool.

At the age of eighteen, conversations started as to wether he should go to a mental institute. However, he had already found a job perfect for him. Or so he thought.

"Join the military, they said. Never get bored again, they said."

Turns out the military was perfect for him. But it too was boring. He was a very good soldier, though his honour was questionable, and ever loyal to Angloterra. But he kept moving up the ranks, and combat was becoming boring as well; his opponents had a habit of dying. Still, his character was definitely in question.

The man was rude, vulgar, a deadpan snarker of the worst kind, insulting, despised lots of things, was easily bored, rarely shaved, always having a scruffy appearance, borderline insane, to the extent of laughing maniacally during a war when he destroyed a bridge to kill some enemy soldiers, he rarely followed the Angloterran military code, although that was admittedly out of trying to protect his men. As such, he was not a brigadier.

However, he was manipulative, intelligent, pragmatic, reasonable, savvy, cared for his men, sometimes as a protective but socially arkward father to them, he was a good fighter, and had a career of success. Thus, at thirty seven, he was a lieutenant colonel, disproportionate for his age, with the disproportionate power of a colonel. He had been unoficially promoted, since he was so useful, yet he might never advance officially.

The man looked up at his right hand lady, a lieutenant.

"Do you want a tea, sir?"

"I can't stand the fucking stuff. Just get me a bloody coffee. The whole damn pot if you will; I can't be arsed to pour the stuff."

I should probably take this opportunity, as the lieutenant left rolling her eyes, to point out that Lancaster was very, very foul mouthed. As such, many of the men took to calling him after the trope, sir swears-a-lot. He responded by telling them to sod off.

The olive skinned man observed the table containing the map, leaning on it as if it were simply a rail. The man was bored at the moment. Here is why.

He had enough men to storm the city. He could take it easily in four hours, maybe less. The city was well guarded, but there were simply not enough rebels to hold it for long, no matter how well trained it seemed that the rebels were.

It was a perfect, golden opportunity. There was the best oppotunity he had. He could take the city in a day. It was a very good opportunity.

And the very fact that it was a golden opportunity was the reason why he and his men had been stuck in this DNA (he is an Angloterran, bear in mind) forsaken desert in the schorching heat for more than a month now. It was too good to be true.

He did not rush to take the town, but instead set up his camps, set out a perimeter, started to make sure that no rebels could get out and hit him in the back, and then decided that the rebels were baiting him.

He might have been right.

Just five days after he had set up, and skirmishes continued, an alchemist, who Lancaster thought was a practitioner in a subset of Chemistry, showed up. He said that he also saw the bait as suspicious, and wanted to investigate.

As such, that alchemist became almost his dragon, if you will. He did not have much contact, but the alchemist used Lancaster to hire some alchemy using- mercenaries and interested parties to help with the investigations, leading to five in total, especially since alchemists sneaking around a sewer was not what the rebels had in mind as a neutral party.

Of course, Lancaster, being bored, decided to spice things up slightly. Since he realised that he could not enter the city, he decided to produce a gambit pile up for the sheer hilarity of the situation.

First off, he hired a group of assassins to murder a high ranking rebel in the city council who had used the conflict to further his own power by giving himself emergency powers. Said man did not exist. After all, he knew the genres. The rebels would never have an evil person on their side. That was not the hilarious thing. The fact that said rebel did actually exist, under the name Bashir Hoplite, was not the hilarious thing.

The hilarious thing was that he hired mercenaries and told them that the assassins he hired were after him. Then he told them that that the assassins were posing as civillians (turns out they were). Thus, on a few nights that remain random, the assassins would enter the city via the sewers, and would find nothing. Then the mercenaries did the same and started blowing up civillians and rebels with their alchemy. Then the investigations group, who were officially neutral but targeted by the rebels anyway, would come out of the sewers and blow up buildings and the occassional rebel if he got to close, depending on the investigator, to chase civillians away, and it only got better when the assassins started targeting the investigators believing them to be bodyguards for the council member. So big flashy three way duels occured when the factions crossed paths. And the rebels shot at all three factions, and loads of people died in the crossfire.

And it resulted in rebel deaths, so it was advantageous. To make it even better, all of the factions knew what was going on, but did not react as the mercenaries were paid by the hour, the investigators knew that he was the most reasonable person in the military despite said plan of a omnicidal maniac, and the assassins found that looting the corpses could produce a healthy profit. Still, it seemed to be calming down now. How boring.

And that was a little gambit pileup he had made up on the dot for a few laughs. That did not even take into account the gambits of individual people in those factions, the gambits in the town, the fact that the investigators were actually investigating nothing: they had all agreed to fool the Angloterrans, but Lancaster let them continue given that his plans were achieved anyway, and the risk of there actually being an entirely different trap was actually quite real. And the second in command of the investigators, who had arrived at the same conclusion as Lancaster after being suspicious himself, and found out about the investigators independantly, actually was investigating. The fact that the rebellion was being supplied by northern Xingese clans to divert the military away from pressuring Xing and as a way of indirectly weakening the Empire, while Cunningham was using the uprising as an excuse to move troops to the town to show to Xing their military power.

And now Amestris, or at least an Amestrian, was involved, and quite a good fighter, at that. Took out a few guards with nothing but his own fists (and automail, but of this Lancaster was unaware)

He took the pot from the lieutenant as she came in, not even thanking her, and smiled as he sipped the bitter coffee straight from the pot, ignoring the scolding heat that occured when one drank boiling hot coffee on his tongue.

Maybe he would wait a little longer. This might actually excite him for once. Especially if the investigator was correct in his (admittedly made up) theory that the town was covered in Transmutation circles ready to explode as soon as the Angloterrans entered. He wanted a huge and unnecessary conflict while he just shells the rebels.

Indeed, the sound of artillery firing started to fill the air. Whoopee, more explosions. How boring.

...

"These sewers aren't original. The Angloterrans built them at around 1850. One of the few good things they do, I say. Of course, that was when they were transporting water. Now they are nothing more than disease ridden, corpse containing dry muckholes. Just goes to show how quickly this town goes down without water."

As if to illustrate his point, the half submerged, rotting body of a ginger cat was visible in the sewage, eyes missing, either from fighting or through flies, and Edward swore that he saw a maggot crawl out of it.

Compared to the beautiful sunset above, the sewers, as expected, were almost the complete opposite. Beauty depended on lost jewelry, and even that had a limit, for even the finest diamond ring, hand crafted with care and affection from a man who poured more than just molten gold, but time, effort, and above all, passion, into the mould before mounting that beautiful structure of carbon, could not be considered beautiful if it was covered in waste that some people may not wish to know where it came from.

The sight in the sewers was not much; endless waste filled the ditch below as the two walked along a stone path to the side that thankfully provided refuge from the waste, and bricks also formed a circular arch above the waste and the elevated path to the left of said waste, but once again, not much of a sight, although their size was worth mentioning; the sewers were massive.

"This is just an outflow. The actual sewer system is an amazing piece of architecture. Disgusting, sure, but fascinating. And no, I do not know why they are so large."

The smell only made things worse. Normally, this was the worst aspect of any sewer, but the worst thing was not the smell in this case.

Rather, it was the human corpses, Xersian and Angloterran alike, although Angloterrans retrieved their corpses when they could. Not for burial, or cremation, but for organ transplants and for medical had a benefit; medicine was pretty advanced in Angloterra as a result.

This showed the extent of the war, and the only inevitable outcome: the outcome of death.

"Believe me, the Angloterrans are winning. We are starving. We are thirsty. Disease runs rampant, crime has gone up, we've had reports of cannibalism, and we have lost more men. And this is during a time when their army is not storming the town."

Edward suspected that it may be to do with an ambush, but inquired to confirm his theory.

"Why not? Suspicious of an ambush?"

"Spot on. When the Gaulians invaded, we lured them in to a trap and annihilated them with alchemy, but they simply sieged the town. The Angloterrans will not make the same mistake twice."

"Then why rebel, if you are going to lose?"

"Hard to say. The truth is, if nobody rebels against the tyranny of the Angloterran empire today, then nobody will in future... Well, I say tyranny, but they are alright, I suppose. They have their standards and morals, but I oppose to conquering lands that have remain independant for centuries and deny them the right to lead their own futures. I'll tell you about it. Actually, now I think about it, I should probably introduce myself. I'm Joshua."

"I suppose I shall return the favour. I'm Edward Elric."

"Ah... I can't say I've heard the name, but Ayan might have. She travelled the world to learn advanced military skills. You see, we are not actually rebels. The point is, we are more... Idealists."

"So you're self admitted terrorists."

"Hmmm. Well, that's one way of putting it. I will not deny the fact that we will blow up Angloterran soldiers. However, we like to think of ourselves as soldiers for freedom, rather than horrific terrorists who use innocents. You see, we hold this ideaology that the Angloterran Empire is wrong. While we will say that the Angloterran empire is not as evil as they first come across as; they show an interest in bettering the lives of others, and their technology is great... we believe that all people have the right to live their lives independently. Angloterra does have the potential to be a moral country; I actually agree with, and would happily advocate, some of their policies. Its just... just that I believe that good should come about of its own accord, and not have to be forced down the throats of others; to me, it sort of contridicts some of the purpose of good. Also, as you have seen, the Angloterrans can be a bit extreme in their methods. What we want is for independance to arise to the nations, and for Angloterra to turn from what it is now to a beacon of morality that I know that it can become. However, in the meantime, we assist rebellions in any way possible. We train, equip and prepare rebellions by establishing contact lines with other countries that may gain less Angloterran pressure, or may simply sympathise with the rebellions, so they may have a chance of at least surviving their fight against the inevitable Angloterran counterattack."

Edward felt that he could at least sympathise with Joshua; he seemed to have a noble goal, seemed to see his enemies as potential heroes, and sought to change Angloterra; he actually seemed a bit of an optimist. But still, he was willing to kill to get his way. While that was the feature of any military, and Joshua seemed to only kill combatants, he did something that Edward would not even consider.

"So... how many people are in your group?"

Joshua managed to do his best sheep impression, before answering, in a bit of a mutter.

"Three."

"Three? Seriously?"

"Well... two actually. But only because the Angloterrans killed one today. If you were on the other train, you might have seen him. He was shot before I could get him out, and I was captured destroying the contacts he carried."

"Oh... sorry. Still, I don't think you can get what you want with thr-two people."

Joshua perked up slightly. Then, he raised his head and replied.

"Actually, we are part of a larger orginisation. We are just this paticular cell. Its me, the alchemist and strategist; I help plan and give strategic propersitions. Ayan is the military trainer. She served as a mercenary for many years, and when she came back, she helped train our soldiers. They aren't as well trained as an Angloterran, but they can hold their own. Pymereus was a bomb maker, and a bombman himself, but he was in charge of getting all the supply before the rebellion began. However,lots of rebels here help us anyway; our manpower comes from the rebellions, we prepare and fight alongside the soldiers. However, we stay small so that If we go down, our fellow members in other cities will not fall. You seem pretty interested, so I'll ask you... do you want to joi-"

"I'm only here for the alchemy and the history. Sorry, but if I got involved, I think that I would regret it. I'll help you if I come across you and you are directly helping civillians, but I do not believe that murder of any kind, even if justified, is the way forward. Sorry, but that's the stance that I have had my whole life. And a few honeyed words are not going to turn me into a damn murderer!"

"I guess that I cannot complain. After a-wait. This is our exit. Leads into the city."

Joshua pulled down a ladder on leading to a manhole and climbed up it.

"You should come to my place; I'll inform you about where to go in the city. Its the least I can do to to thank you for helping me."

...

Charles Montue sat at the table, consuming a light meal. Nighttime had reached the desert, but his day had only just begun. Realistically, as the Angloterrans ate in the meal tent, or announced bawdy tales under tye influence of several pints of ale in the all important beer tent, likely to wake up with a hangover and a punishment tomorrow, Charles was only eating his breakfast. The other investigators chose to eat at the meal tent, but Charles preferred to eat in their actual tent.

After all, here he could safely converse with his enemy.

Now, Charles was Gaulian, but he was a man who had studied alchemy here in Xersia his whole life. He could even do it, due to thirty five years of practice, since he was six, and the geothermal energy avaliable at Xersia. And he knew a lot of people in Xersia, and even considered it his home.

So, when the Angloterrans had come to supress the rebellion, Charles prepared to put his Angloterran citizenship down and become a rebel, despite the pleas of many of his Xersian friends. However, one man, his tutor, actually, told him about the investigators. So he signed up to pretend that he was investigating the so called 'trap'.

Pretty quickly, he became suspicious of the rebel's tactics. He thought that something was up. So he searched. And searched. But all he found was that damn trench that surrounded the city. He thought straight away that something was wierd about it. Could it have been part of a transmutation circle to destroy the Angloterrans?

Then the mercenary sitting across from him caught him on one of his private investigations.

The mercenary ate very specific foods at very specific times; Charles guessed it was to do with a damaged pancretic duct. And currently he had finished his meal.

Of all the mercenaries, this man scared him the most. Not because he was big, or strong, or a vicious psychopath, but because he knew what Charles was investigating. A circle, likely alkahestric, that may blow up the town if the Anglotettans entered.

Also, the fact that he helped him scared him as well.

It seemed that the two could use the trench as a way of stopping the Angloterrans, and they knew that Lancaster knew. So they continued to investigate, looking for the actual trap which risked killing civillians.

Turns out that he was wrong. The trench was not circular. That meant that they could only pretend, and that would mean that Lancaster would catch on, and that would mean that he would consider starting the invasion.

But a day later, he discovered evidence: a simple change in sand depth here, evidence of alchemy there, that the trench had been circular. And the day after that, it was round again. What was going on?

But by then, all of the fights between the assassins, the mercenaries and the investigators began. And suddenly, the rebels, unable to distinguish between the factions, fired upon all of them. As a result, one investigator had gone missing. Nobody knew where he was at the moment.

The mercenary started meeting in private. First off, it was where the mercenaries would be. With this information, the investigators could always intercept the mercenaries and save the civillians. But soon, a request arrived.

A theory that he had to look out or. Alas, the ever changing trench made investigating that theory hard. Eventually, the evidence that it was not a full circle, but rather a half circle that just ended, came up. Turns out that said trench was a tank trap, and the movements were apparently repairs.

Damn that trench!

Charles finished eating and prepared for the next location of the mercenaries today. At least, probably the last piece.

"At eleven pm, they will be in the section of the sewers they were at last night. I've already discussed this with the assassins. Turns out they are bloody well done with Lancaster's games as well. Sure, the man is the reasonable authority figure of this story..."

"Fourth wall"

"Sorry Charles. Anyway, the problem is that Lancaster is just using everybody to kill civillians. However, the assassins have agreed to help, should you give them the information. Needless to say, 'help' means murder. If you choose to do this, bear in mind that I will fight alongside the mercenaries. You know why. However, the other reason is this; you are the only man I can trust with this request. You know what is at stake here."

"Very well. Go ahead and make your request."

"If you find any alchemic traps that may kill civillians, only report it to me. We may be able to disarm it, but if Lancaster finds out, he will find a way to force us to disarm it. And then he can waltz right into the town, and start the bloody massacare that I want to avoid. We need to prolong this conflict. Excuse my language, but bugger the Angloterrans, bugger the rebels. They are going to fight. I wish we could do more, but right now, all we can do is try to keep civillians safe. I just wish there were other options."

Charles stood up, but wanted to ask a question beforehand.

"You are not a mercenary, are you?"

"That is correct. By now, the reader should know that I- "

"Fourth wall. And spoilers."

"Can't tell if spoiler, or stating the obvious."

"Meme"

"Damn it! Wait, is meme a word in this time period? No, wait, it isn't. Still, what will you do about the mercenaries?"

"I see your fear. However, the same applies for me. I will discuss it with my peers. If they want to keep them alive, we will interfere. If not... prepare for bloodshed."

...

"Well... welcome. It's not much; we aren't a rich city, but we get by."

Joshua's house wasn't much. Of course, it was nicer than the sewers, but then again the same could be said for even the smallest of shacks. Joshua lived in a two story building, at least that was what Edward could garnish from the external structure and the presence of stairs. The living room was quite simplistic: a small room with a window that had no glass, and the only furniture was a small table which was surrounded by four stools. The stool that Edward sat upon wobbled slightly, but Joshua simply told him to get another one that did not wobble. At the back of the house lay a small kitchen, not much more than a fireplace, although it matched the rest of the house, and a few pots, stoves and metal spoons, and a spit.

"Actually, this is a middle class home here. The Xerxeans built two story houses. Most people live in a single story building with their whole family. I could purchase more furniture, but honestly most of my time is spent outside anyways. You see, my official job is an alchemic advisor to the current representative, Abdul Isosceles. As such, most of my time is spent up at the palace, and usually the staff have no problem letting me stay there if my work gets paticularily busy, and my spare time is usually spent in the library, or field research. Still, this is great for meeting Ayan, and our third man, Pymerus. But now that he's dead... our plan is a little shaky. Now we will be unable to import goods to the city without risking a huge detection by those damn... no, God damned Angloterrans! Still, I may as well show you the map... if I can find it. Erm... could you hold on a moment?"

Joshua stood up and went to a small duffle bag in the corner of the room, picked it up, and searched inside.

"Ah, here we are"

Joshua sat back down and opened the map, spreading it across the table. Outside, the sun had finally receeded.

Joshua pinned the edges to the table with a few random items on the table, mostly pencils and books, and pointed to the largest building on the map.

"Right... not the best tour, but it is getting late. This building is the palace. Really the only upper class building in the city. The palace is at the top of the hill, or realistically artificial hill, and the city moves down from this."

The largest road curved down slightly from the palace, and seemed to flow into a large square further down the hill.

"This is the public square, although from seven to eleven AM, Gaulanians mean time, it is also the market square. Off to the side is our place of worship, the Shihada." Stated Joshua, following the square to a large domed building. "Are you religious by any chance?"

"Ha! No way! You'd have to be fucking stupid to believe in any supernatural being! No, us scientists don't need God to guide us. After all, we are far closer to God then those disilusioned fools!"

Admittedly, Edward had reverted to his old self a bit there, a bit that most people didn't like, but to Edwards surprise Joshua was not offended.

"Well that's a good thing. The Angloterrans take your point of view, and simply exaggerate it until it becomes 'torture and kill any religious worshippers, or those who believe in any supernatural diety'. The only reason why this place remains is because the Gaulanians who conquored the city found that the religion had no God, and the religion was more a guide on how to live your life. The Gaulanians allowed this religion, on the condition that one part that they didn't like was removed. Apart from that, they found nothing wrong with it, seeing as it wasn't stupid, and the Gaulanians kept it a secret even after Angloterra was formed. Gaulia is officially the head country, and as such managed to officially keep the worship under wraps. Still, if the Anglians ever find out, it will be a massacare."

Edward allowed Joshua to go on about how the religion was formed and how the Xerxians took it up, but he only feigned an interest in the story. His real thoughts were based upon comparing pre-coup Amestris to Angloterra.

Straight up, they appeared to have similar goals. Take over as many countries as possible, supress any rebellion quickly and brutally, and advance science. Father's plot aside, both seemed to have the same position when it came to morality. However, it was too early to call; not enough information on Angloterra yet. A scientist could theorise all he liked, but needed lots of credible evidence for the conclusion to be valid. Currently, however, Angloterra seemed to be larger than Amestris, and seemed to have better military technology.

Still, he could always garnish some more information from Joshua. Using him as little more than an information source; had the Amestrian military robbed off of him?

"Sorry to interrupt-"

"No, go right ahead."

"Okay. Can I just ask; this is my interest after all... alchemy. I can find out about alchemy here, but does Angloterra use alchemy?"

Joshua, the thirty four year old man, pursed his lips with his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

"Generally, that answer would be no. Angloterra seems to not be in the right place geographically for alchemy; not enough geothermal energy reaches the surface to be used In alchemic reactions. Also, with little experience, very few Angloterrans can use alchemy abroad, and if they can, it takes years of experience and the results are much less than impressive, often not adequite. Gaulanians have the best luck; there was a person here... Charles was his name, he could actually do pretty good alchemy, but he had studied here for over thirty years. He is currently trying to stop the Angloterrans from entering this city, but I don't know much about this plan. A Gothian inventor created a device that provides energy artificially, but the process is very inefficient. Anglians simply don't use it for those reasons, but surprisingly they found one reaction considered worth the resources of the machine. It is pretty advanced actually."

"So... what is it?" Asked Edward, silently cursing himself for sounding, no, becoming, the over inquisitive child.

"Its a replacement for medicine, only in the military, should the victim go beyond saving but is still alive. I am impartial to it, but most Xersians hate the result and are openly bigoted about it. Still they may be justified. I mean, those guys don't even have bodies. Just empty suits of armour. Fun fact, the dictator of Anglia is himself one of these..."

Edward only caught on how Angloterrans accept the soldiers without discrimination in the conversation that followed, but really he was held prisoner by his own thoughts. Of course, probably not to your surprise, his mind raced straight to memories of poor Alphonse, imprisoned within his metal body and lacking features that would describe him as a homo sapien, but Edward also thought of the soldiers. One day, they were ordinary men, but one mine, one stray shot, and they would be condemmed to life imprisonment in a steel shell, unable to escape, yet rejected, unable to enjoy the basic simplicities of life that humans feel, knowing that they are nothing but an empty shell, likely hated and feared by some (not the Angloterrans, surprisingly for Edward), knowing that their body is decomposing (due to Angloterran customs of all bodies go to science and medicine, some had the rare sight of their own dissection). And to top it all off, they could be viciously returned to their deceased corpses in a violent reaction, unable to predict when, and constantly in fear of said reaction, ranging from just a few seconds to a thousand years, or even more. And if Alphonse's time bomb theory were correct, then they may take their comrades with them. That was not a fate that anybody deserved to have placed upon them. And yet, it is the only way that these people could survive, as a nonexistant entity, simply manipulative consciousness, according to the Angloterran military.

Edward despised conversations regarding that fate. Luckily for him, Joshua seemed to had finished.

"You're staring off again. One would think that you were having... regrets? Bad memories?"

"Can we move this conversation along!"

"Oh... right. Anyway, back to the city."

"You said something about a library earlier."

"Oh, right!" Said Joshua, pointing out two structures that flanked the main road.

"This is the library, and this is the museum. These structures were stately homes, the only ones bar the palace, but the Angloterrans purchased, or took from the dead, the buildings and converted them, moving the library from a smaller institute to this grand one. While Xersian staff run the Library, the Angloterran staff in the museum of Xersian and Alchemic history fled when the uprising began. Not a great loss, since really only foreigners used the museum. Its still open, but with a skeleton crew of Xersian guides. The library would be useful to you, but the books are in Xersian. The Angloterrans use the Xerxean language texts more than the Hassassian texts, due to language similarities."

"Oh, I should be able to read them. Amestris has Xerxean influences, and written language is one of them. Can't understand why we and the Angloterrans speak the same language."

"You and the Anglians. And there are differences; words such as 'honour' or 'centre' are spelt and said the same, if you use the Xerxean text, but Anglians have words such as 'bloody' and 'bugger' and 'arse', swear words, admittedly, but the Gaulanians and the Gothians speek different languages. I think it is, however rare, two independant arisements of the same language. Or English for your convenience. One of the two."

"Whats English?"

"Language for lazy people."

"So, shitheads, I guess?"

Before the swearing got out of hand, the author ended the insults against his language to carry on the story.

"Also, the area around the square and for a few streets of the main path are the middle class houses, like mine. We are on this street here, not too far from the main road. The rest of the areas are the single story houses. Be careful round here; crime increases in those areas, but especially in the south east of the city. The side roads are a maze, so just hope for the best if you get lost. Finally, the Inn's are all grouped around the sqare, but the best ones, although not the safest, are in the side streets coming off the square. Finally, the square leads to the entrance via another road, but we won't be needing it. So, no-"

Joshua was cut off by the door opening and a woman stepping in. She wore a brown military trenchcoat, sand of the desert lightening the dark colours slightly, a small military cap, and her hair was held backwards in a ponytail. But she had, most importantly, a rifle, a fine Xingese one at that, slung across her left shoulder.

Her intro was brief, as she simply went straight upstairs to her room.

"Hi Ayan. Something wrong?"

"Yes Joshua." She snapped, heading back down the stairs slightly. "You're little action may have succeded, and it is great to see you alive, but you're capture caused problems with the rebel command. Not to mention... look, I've been up since four AM. The soldiers hate my training attitude, even though I only do it to keep them alive by being far worse than any Angloterran soldier, you got into trouble, and now we lost contact with our sewer outpost unit, apparantly by gas attack. Needless to say, the paperwork mounted."

"I thought we destroyed the gas canister train."

"Apparantly one bit of gas was still avaliable to the Angloterrans, although I'm-"

Her speech was cut of so that she could yawn, still for some indescribable reason, but signifying her need for sleep.

"I'm not sure how they knew where the outpost was. They only gassed one outflow tunnel. I will be down in a minute... just need to get my uniform off."

She went up the stairs, Xerxean skin contrasting her Hassassian eyes. Joshua turned to Edward.

"You can stay here for tonight, but people may think you are one of us if you stay much longer. That may not be healthy for you, especially if the Angloterrans find out. So take some money-"

"I hid it from the Angloterrans in my jacket."

"Smart. No need for me to fund your stay, or for you to get a job. Still, you can't access outside finances, and people will try to steal from you. So, on the bright side, I'll have the honour of making you your first Xersian cuisine."

Joshua went to the kitchen and started to boil the, admittedly rationed due to Angloterran blockades, small amount of water that resided in the pot. He turned back to Edward, who was evaluating the map for the shortest route to the Library.

"I would recommend the museum first. You mentioned that you wanted to find out about the histoty of this city, especially our Xerxian descent. Just go briefly to get an idea, before heading off to the library. You may find yourself unable to tear yourself from that place. Oh! Nearly forgot! I have a meeting, at around six PM, with representative Isosceles. He may want to meet you afterwards, at about eight, due to your common descent with us. Ah, here comes Ayan now."

Ayan had finally descended the stairs, the hot and stuffy military uniform traded for something a little more suited to the desert heat. Namely, a short shirt and thin trousers, actually part of the uniform. The rifle was gone, but a pistol remained tucked into its holster.

"Sorry, just very tired. Oh, who is this Joshua?"

While she attempted to be chatty, her eyes gave her away... droopy and barely staying open. Several times, she shook her head, attempting to jerk her tired eyes awake.

"This is Edward Elric. He... he helped me escape. Actually, he drew a pretty advanced transmutation circle, but could not activate it."

Ayan seemed to race memories through her head as she leant back.

"Edward Elric... something tells me I heard the name. Briefly, but I have a good memory. Judging by those eyes... beautiful eyes, I must say, I shall assume that you are Xersian, but I have never seen his face around here."

"Actually, Im of Xerxian descent..."

Directly, thought Edward secretly, while Joshua went to cook the meals.

"But I'm from Amestris." Edward finished the conversation, hoping to clear that part up. However, Ayan decided to carry on that conversation.

"Aha! Now I remember that name of yours! Joshua, this guy was in the Amestrian military from a young age. And one of those state alchemists as well. I think someone told me the name when he hired me for a mission. Oh yes, the smallmetal alchemist, was it?"

Edwards narrowed his eyes. Damn it Mustang, are you seriously that childish? Not even a word such as "diminuitive" or "vertically reduced". Still, Edward kept quiet. He could rant to Mustang when he got back.

"Actually, its the Fullmetal alchemist. F-u-l-"

"Don't worry, I see what annoys you. We won't discuss it."

"Child soldier? Phah! And here I was hoping Amestris was better than those damn Angloterrans!" Yelled Joshua from the kitchen.

"Still, why are you here? And why can't you use alchemy?"

"The first question, or the history and alchemic knowledge. The second, a trade that I will never regret."

"Okay. Well, dinner is nearly ready, and after that I'm going to bed. Did Joshua let you stay here tonight?"

"Yes, he did, but really only tonight. still, I have money, so I can get an inn."

"Great. Just beware after dark. Some mercenaries, Angloterran hired ones at that, occasionally come into town and blow people up. Just stay indoors, although you look like you can look out for yourself. Are you still military?"

"No, I'm retired. My brother joined against my protests, but honestly the military is a lot better now after a coup began against the corrupt dictator, and he is only a foreign alchemy based national alchemist, so he can avoid combat, gets his, and my, research funded, and makes sure that the alchemy he finds can better the lives of civillians. Also, he knows some people who can keep him away from combat if it arises, so he is on the better end of the agreement. In anycase, I think he came here. Have you seen him? Name's Alphonse, Golden eyes, same skin, short hair, might be carrying around a suit of armour..."

"You'd think that the last detail would make him immediately noticible, but we haven't seen him. We'll keep an eye out."

Joshua came in holding two plates. The meal was simplistic; lentils, cous cous and a very small amount of meat, but Joshua mentioned the existance of rationing in the city. Jishua got his own plate and joined the others.

But as the three ate, they remained unaware of a smile from the corrupt councillor Bashir Hoplite as a thorn in his backside was ended by rebel soldiers loyal to him.


	4. Chapter 3: A dab of moral grey

Right. 20k words, and it seems that what I was trying to fix in the last chapter is actually not transferring when I paste this lot, so that is a sad failiure. Only two chapters so far. Not the best, admittedly for several days of writing, but it is 20k words on a tablet, so that has gone well. Who knows; maybe I can hit 60k. In anycase, the story can now drag in. Only one review so far, people. Let's get some more in; they may help make this story better for all. Now, the story can grey out even more. Time to introduce a few of the other gambits.

"Clear the way! Bodies coming through! "

The rebel, clad in the same type of military uniform that Ayan had worn last night, scattered the crowd while two more rebels carried a stretcher, the still, unmoving corpse that lay upon the stretcher wrapped crudely in the cloth that hid the identidy and cause of death of this body. This stretcher was followed by yet more stretchers, each weighted down by the corpse of a once living human being, now nothing to humanity except a deadweight to evaluate the cause of death from. Not a single one of these bodies showed any sign of life, but there was clear evidence of dried blood that had reached the linen blanket that hid the corpses from the ever prying eyes of the public.

The rebel who had been clearing the crowd still shouted as much as his throat would allow, his voice announcing the tradegy that had greeted this city to break through the mid morning atmosphere.

The rebel turned to one of his comrades, a young Hassasian, and ordered the man to inform the crowd which, instead of being repulsed by the presence if the dead, had instead leaned in to take a closer look at the eight bodies that lay upon the stretchers.

"People, these men and woman were found murdered in the sewers. Since the bodies are not Xersian, we believe that the mercenaries are behind this, or the mercenaries were killed by another party. Please be aware that the sewers are off limits as investigations are taking place."

A panicked gasp came from the crowd. Many a mother started to take their children away from this vicious aftermath of what could easily have been a bloody massacare.

As the shouting continued, reducing in Intensity as the group got further away from the square on their way to the main camp of the rebellion military, the towers and walls of the city, the square returned back to life as normal.

Once again, the market stalls returned to life. The sellers screamed to the crowd that browsed the wares of all the buyers, trying to advertise their wares: selections of local foods, wines, trinkets, small souvenirs, and much more was advertised by the sellers, hoping to make enough profit today so that they could put enough food on the table for them and their families while having just a basic roof over their heads. Amongst the crowd, rumours spread of the mercenaries. One of the more popular rumours was that of a bounty being placed upon the heads of the mercenaries. While several of the young men here were not in the rebellion as such, several would want the money from the bounty as a way of garunteeing that they could put food on the table, or for some to enjoy at the local inns.

Edward reminded himself that the people here were quite poor. As a precaution, he had placed his wallet, a rough but reliable one, where the leather was beginning to flake of the corners and edges over years of usage and neglect, yet still remained standing, on the inside of his dark green trenchcoat. His precaution paid off, as a large man collided with him, and he was pretty certain that the man had, almost undetectably, he had to admit, place his hand down Edward's rear trouser pocket in the hope of obtaining money from what he hoped was qn unbelievably stupid tourist. The man was disappointed.

"Ey ey ey ey ey! Where do you two fucking thieves think you are going! Get back here, or I'll rip your eyeballs out..."

The rant, which continued even after the thieves, two young boys, barely older than six, one Hassassian skinned and one Xerxian skinned, had left the scene, one having the Orange that he had obtained illegally from the Orange seller clasped in his left hand as they ran through the crowd, being too small to catch. The orange seller continued shouting at the two boys, and did not notice a thief who had more experience simply walk up and take a Orange. This thief was part of a small gang of pickpockets that usually hired small children to do their dirty work, finding them more useful than the adults for their size, ability to steal and desprate behaviour. And suffice it to say, the two young boys had not gone unnoticed to him as he peeled his orange, hoping to take a bite out of the sweet, juicy interior that would quench his thirst upon this hot morning.

One thing that surprised Edward was a man playing into his flute, with a basket in front of him. Because Edward saw that the crowd did not react, he assumed that it was phony, or that the display was not actually worth the time taken for him to extort some money.

That is not to say, however, that he was not impressed when a snake climbed out of the basket, attracted to the movements of the flute.

Edward's attention was soon diverted to a woman coming up to him, hands held to her heart in a pleading manor.

"So sorry sir, but could you please spare just a few coins for a woman who's child is starving? Please, please mister, could you please?"

Edward knew that if he gave the woman some money, then every begger from here to the edge of town would come after him. It was likely that the beggers were in communication. Also, he didn't really have the money as of now, so he turned round and tried to escaoe into the crowd slowly.

"Please please, my child is starving and..."

To Edward's annoyance, the woman continued to follow him, begging for money that she should probably have gotten a job to get. There may be legitimate beggers in the city, but she seemed like she could actually get a job. That, and she was annoying.

Edward passed a craftsman selling furniture and elaborate crafts, such as fine boxes, chessboards, furniture, decorations and the like from a small shop parked within his home. Seeing as he had a two story house on the main square, the sound of a radio coming from the back, and seemed to be wearing good quality Angloterran clothes, Edward assumed that the man was quite well off.

"Good day my friend!" Yelled the man to Edward, trying to grab his attention. "Are you Interested in my wares?"

"Sorry, no." Edward replied, before adding, in a bit of a snarky manor. "Besides, I don't think you need my money anyway, go make your own!"

Since the man was wealthy enough to not be offended, he simply chuckled and layed back in his chair. The begger was still annoying Edward, and her pleas were getting more desperate, going into repeats.

Edward quickened his pace, not to a running or jogging pace, but to more of a quick walk as he attempted to lose the woman in the crowd.

"Plea-"

"Will you piss off!" Exclaimed Edward, loudly enough so that she could hear, but not so loudly so that anyone else would assume that he meant them.

His response came a second later.

"Please mister, my child is starving-"

Edward honestly hoped that the child was being looked after. According to what Joshua had told him over breakfast, school was compulsury, and there were benefits to children and rehoming in place for the youth of the city under Angloterran rule, and it seemed that, for some children, this was no longer the case.

The rebellion would definitely have its downside, of that Edward was certain.

To his annoyance, the begger, who Edward was convinced now that she was someone who made a living off harassing people until they give her money, possibly quite a bit, then perhaps even selling information of who to harass later (now, normally Edward was a little bit rude and leapt to conclusions, but in this case I must make it clear that he was not entirely wrong. Some people in this city abused the generosity of others to further their own wealth through lying, as Ayan had warned him). Edward swore, if she annoyed him one-

"Please sir, my-"

Edward resisted the urge to shout at her to go away. It would only draw unnecessary attention to himself, and may lead to a violent confrontation. It would not do him any good to get arrested.

Again.

In less than twenty four hours.

Not to mention that, unlike in Amestris, Alphonse was not around to bail him out. And even then, Alphonse had revealed a cruel sense of humour on occasion, under the guise of "you need to learn your lesson".

However, much to Edward's relief as he left the square to head towards the museum, the woman finally gave up and started muttering to herself. Edward picked up "short bastard knew it", so he was pretty sure that he had guessed her true nature.

Edward stopped just in time to see a few young children playing in the streets run in front of him in a game of tag.

And this was despite all of the murders around the city. Unbeknownst to Edward, one child in the group had lost both of his parents to last night's artillery strikes from the Angloterran military. Edward finally found the museum as he stared up at the great palace atop the hill, main road adorned by shops of all kinds, and looked at it.

As he entered the building which towered over the shops around it, he could see the angloterran influences, namely glass windows, new doors and architecture added to the building that reminded him a bit of Amestris. As he entered, the he saw that the way forward to the museum was closed off, a one way system with the entrance closed. Looking for help, he turned to the man sitting idlely at the counter, reading a book he had borrowed from the library earlier.

"Excuse me." Exclaimed Edward, catching the attention of the man. "Is the museum open?"

Edward was pretty surprised when the man turned his head and called out to a room behind the counter with an open door in Hassassian, a language he could not understand. A reply in Hassassian came from behind the door, and a man, of a genotype that is the closest genotype to the Hassassian culture, showing a Hassassian skinned man who did not have Xerxean eyes, stepped out, moving towards the counter and started talking to Edward.

"Sorry, he doesn't know Xerxian, but I do. First time language differences has come up in this story to an actual effect."

"Indeed. You'd think that the author just made it up that Angloterran and Amestrian/Xerxean are the same." Replied Edward.

"Fourth wall" said the man who didn't speak Xerxean, in perfect Xerxean, because he was the only person who could save us from a fourth wall collapse, and had undergone a mighty quest across barren deserts, rivers of lava and through hell itself to learn those two words. All in a picosecond; so fast that It was like he never left.

"Sorry" muttered Edward and the man collectively as they realised their mistake. The man then turned to Edward.

"Sorry about that. Anyway, I suppose you are here to see the museum."

"No, just the bit about how Xerxes is related to Xersia. And alchemy."

"Well I can see why. Your eyes really give you away. Now, I am afraid that the museum is closed for refurbishment."

"Why?"

"One of the mercenaries blew part of it up. I'm pretty certain the Angloterrans killed him for that. They like their protected buildings. Anyway, I'm going to bend the rules slightly. You see, we don't get many visitors, ever since the conflict started, so just someone coming is interesting enough for me. So... how about I give you a tour of the historical part. Do you know alchemy? If so, that is the last exhibition, so you can look through it yourself, but the library's where you want to be for it. I mean, if he's okay with it."

The other man shrugged his shoulders, signifying indifference to the bending of the rules.

"Okay. I'll give you a tour of our history. Just come through here to the staff corridors. Don't worry about the rules; Angloterrans set it up, anyway."

"Oh, well I wasn't expecting that. Thanks anyway, but I will admit that I didn't see that coming."

...

"Didn't see that coming."

Charles sipped his tea, thoughtfully provided for him in the most elegent manor possible. A cheap, disposable cup that contained... stuff that was called tea but honestly just seemed to be hot water and milk. The Anglians had a name for this kind of tea. BBD tea. Barely Bloody Drinkable tea. This worried Charles, as tea was supposed to be stress relief for Anglians. And since this tea was not that good... Charles did not have high hopes for the city.

"Honestly, I did not see that coming." Repeated the mercenary, staring into Charles' eyes. Charles stared back, and questioned the mercenary as to his usage of the well known phrase.

"So what happened? We didn't stop you mercenaries."

"Yes, but when we arrived, the assassins were... deceased, to say the least. Bullet wounds. Needless to say, someone found out about them."

Charles thought about what must have occured to allow someone to kill the assassins. Clearly, someone else had decided to get involved in this little conflict. And where one goes, everyone follows, at least that was what Charles thought.

"We stumbled across the assassin corpses, at the predetermined time, and nobody was able to spot the culprit in this circumstance. And now everything is worse."

Charles sipped his 'tea' again, and thought about why the Assassins had been assassinated, so to speak. He decided to bring up a thought that was drilling around his head.

"I cannot help but wonder... with the assassins dead, would the mercenaries not cash in their services and go home? No need to stay here any longer. Their contract is over."

The mercenary leaned forward and placed his hands in front of his lips.

"Yes, I believe that that circumstance is true. Many chose to collect their payment for services rendered and leave richer then they entered. However, I noticed four other mercenaries chose to begin a second contract. This contract, I believe, is to target and kill rebel soldiers. But the problem is that the report is very indiscriminate. You see, as mercenaries, they do not have to abide by the Angloterran code; not like Lancaster was doing it anyway, but I'm talking about civillians here. There is no discriminate target; all people in that city can be treated as an enemy. As such, I have had to join up to keep an eye on them and keep some of the civillians safe."

"Will you still be able to provide us with information?"

"I told you who they are, but I am afraid that the contracts are individual. As such, all of them will work alone. There is not much I can do to give you information like before, other than a guess as to where they will come from. Basically, we're blind. By the way, has your 'investigation' come up with anything."

As he said 'investigation', his fingers made air quotes, signifying which one he meant.

"Yes, actually" Charles responded, not caring if anybody else happened to listen in on it. "We found a bunch of transmutation circles on the path to the city, acting a bit like proximity mines. Should an Angloterran soldier get to close, then he will find himself without legs in no time."

The mercenary leaned forward and took up a serious expression.

"And what about your investigation? Have you come up with any information that you can tell me?"

Charles leant forward and reduced the tone of his voice to a barely audiable whisper that the mercenary sitting across from him could only just pick up.

"I am afraid nothing has come up. It would be nice to assume that it is just simply oversuspicion on our behalf, but..."

"But we are too genre savvy to look past even this slight suspicion." The mercenary finished, forgoing Charles' need to finish his sentance. The mercenary leaned back, starting a new sentance.

"I mean come on, is this not obvious? To be truthful, it is as obvious to the reade- I mean everybody, that something is up as it is obvious that I'm actually-"

The mercenary never finished his sentance as suddenly Ragathbzar, the demon of spoilers, had appeared from underneath the table and stared with murderous intent at him with those horrible, penentrating blood red eyes protruding from that giant green scaled head that resembled a mixture of all the worst parts of a lizard and a snake, teeth bared open in a clear display as it threatened with that gaze that should the mercenary finish that sentance in the way he intended, he would be devoured to be slowly digested in pain unimaginable to mankind for an eternity, before becoming part of that demon, forever seeing the same fate befall so many others.

"A guy trying to keep civillians alive! A guy trying to keep civillians alive!" Yelled the mercenary, panicking and staring in fear at that... inhuman thing that could scare the life out of even the most toughend creature known to mankind, reverting to a point that had been made earlier in a bid to get said demon to leave the mercenary in peace.

The demon did something that could not be considered a smile, but was clearly expressing a mischievous grin as it retreated it's head back under the table, leaving not a single piece of evidence of his existance bar two pale, shaking men, one moreso than the other, and the risk of a heart attack or fainting was very high within the two men.

Charles recovered from this event before his peer, and looked on as the mercenary gave a shaky and still panicked response.

"Let us never speak of this again" he said, stating the trope word for word.

Charles nodded, and decided to continue their original conversation before they were so shockingly sidetracked.

"You see, I think... AAAAAGGGH!"

"Are you okay?"

Charles stood up, collected a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped down where hot 'tea' had been spilt as a result of the demon.

"Just spilt my tea, that's all. So anyway, I think that Lancaster is well aware of what we are doing. If I were a betting man, I would put my money on him spying on us as of now."

Lancaster, who indeed was spying on them, suddenly obtained an exclamation mark above his head and a sharp noise to go with it, then ran off back to his tent.

"I would think so too. Still, we have the upper hand in this. As long as we keep investigating, Lancaster will not risk his men. If we find something, he will not be able to enter the city. If we don't, then he will have to assume that we are still searching. Although I hope not, if we die, then he will most certainally not enter the city. If we are lucky, everybody will get sick of this siege and call for peace."

Charles smiled. For too long In this he felt as If he was doing nothing. Lancaster saw through the other investigators ruse; thus, the assassins and the mercenaries. But now, now he held the power to help save people and possibly drag out a conflict non violently until it ends. He turned back to the mercenary, who had one more thing to say.

"By the way, I spotted something weird yesterday. When I found the assassins, I found another corpse. I believe that it is the investigator whom went missing."

Charles' eyes perked up at this comment, and he turned back to the mercenary for any more information. Instead, the mercenary coughed, blood coming out of the gaping hole that was his mouth. Apparantly It was neglect, and while the doctor had told him that there were no illnesses or diseases, and it was unlikely to be the man's organs, disfunctional though they were; turns out that his pancreatic duct had been partly digestid by the enzymes within, and the man recieved stoumach ulcers. But still, the man continued.

"I also found scars on his body. They were much older, and I do not believe that the assassins are to blame. I theorise, although it is a little bit harsh, that whoever killed the assassins did so by capturing this man, torturing out of him the assassins most likely positions, then released him into the sewers to draw out the assassins before killing them and disposing of him. We are dealing with someone who will do anything to get his way here. Its an all to common act of objective cruelty that I have seen too much of."

Charles gulped and nodded. He had known that this job was dangerous, but the vicious truth that the same fate could befall him loomed above his head. He questioned if he could withstand torture if people's lives were on the line.

...

Lieutenant colonel Lancaster returned to his tent, rushing through the open flap that lay to the side of the tent, a discarded piece of entrance that the man held no sentimental value to.

It had been surprising that the mercenaries had come in demanding payment. When they placed the heads upon the table, a brutal action but one which proved through the decapitated remnants of the men who he had hired purely for a lark, he realised that his fun, albiet fun that had a purpose, was now at an end.

He eyed the tent, taking into account the three figures within. One was his aide, the female Lieutenant who was not named. The second was a second lieutenant with short light brown hair, who stood dead still, agitation clear in his eyes that shifted over to the third figure, a suit of armour that wore a nametag saying "Hello, my name is Jones".

To Lancaster's disappointment, the Doctor who he had ordered to arrive by now was not here. Lancaster gave a quick announcement to the three people gathered round the table.

"Does anybody have any idea where the Doctor is... and for DNA's sake, someone move that bloody police box!"

"The doctor is currently operating on a patient. Apparantly a sniper shot him, but he's alive. However, he has provided the medical report on the remaining mercenaries, as requested." Replied the lieutenant, face as stotic and emotionless as ever.

"Excellent. Right, let us have a villain introduction scene. We have, for confidential reasons but really to keep the lazy author from having to write the names, decided to name them after the trope five bad band."

"Fourth wall, sir" exclaimed the second lieutenant, taking upon the mantle as saviour of the fourth wall and stopping the catastrophe that would occur.

However, Lancaster simply smiled, a grin appearing upon his lips that signified that he had been waiting for this moment his entire life, and leaned forward, hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm allowed to break the fourth wall."

The second lieutenant leaned back, his eyes wide open, but he managed to maintain his composure as he nonchantingly replied "Yes sir".

Lancaster stood back up to full height and produced a document about all five mercenaries.

"Okay, lets start with the most authourative one here. We shall dub him the 'big bad,' real name Alexander Fields. Anglian mercenary, he was born twenty nine years ago, and he has served as a mercenary since he was seventeen. Described as a reasonably intelligent man, his combat prowess and ability are immediately apparant upon the field. However, I believe that this man may prove problematic. You see, he acts as somewhat of a worthy opponent to his enemies, as much of his work in Gadina has proven, and he is strictly professional in his work; he will only kill enemy soldiers. While I do not have a problem with this professionalism, he is likely to find a worthy opponent within the city and will start to do stupid things. Still, he is our best bet for our leader, or as close as a leader as we will get with these independent contracts. I do not believe that any of the other mercenaries will have the experience that he has had in terms of battles fought; he is the most battle hardened of the lot. However, his anti-villain tendencies and extreme professionalism means that he cannot be relied on to demoralise the enemy much. Lieutenant, any medical conditions?"

The lieutenant picked up the report that lay upon the desk and opened It, flicking to the correct page and announcing a brief summary of the medical report.

"Almost perfect sir. He really has done a good job of keeping himself in peak physical condition, and although he has a bullet wound in his upper right arm, it does not appear to have impeded his ability in any way. There is the occassional nick or scar, but otherwise a perfect specemin. Sir, I would suggest that you keep him away from the doctor; the doctor may be nice and care profoundly for his patients, but he has always discussed about dissecting a perfect specemin."

A few groans and sounds of disgust came from the second lieutenant and Jones. While they were Angloterrans and knew the culture of dissection after death, they assumed that the ever so nice doctor might murder to get his specemin.

"Alive."

The aforementioned groans were even louder.

"Fine fine, let us move on" stated Lancaster, excited by the conversation but realising that the other three people may need to be elsewhere later. "Our second person is the Dragon. Although we all know most of his important personal details, they are not on this file because SOMEONE, second lieutenant, spilt tea all over it."

The second lieutenant moved immediately to justify himself.

"Sorry sir, but the plot demanded it sir!"

"Only I am allowed to break the fourth wall. Me yes, you no. Benefit of being insane, you see."

The second lieutenant looked down at his feet sheepishly.

"Sorry sir"

"Good. Glad we straightened that out. Now, I have done some... stalking... at night... No, I am not slenderman! In anycase, I can garuntee that he is a 'dragon with an agenda'. You see, he keeps meeting with Charles Montue, so he does seem to be concerned with helping others. I can safely say that he is a really good fighter, and very skilled with alchemy too, but he does seem to be a hero antagonist in this sense. He Is very sociable, and pretty much most of the men like him and his stories, which he can back up pretty well. I know that he is really investigating something, like Charles, so he is to be observed, and any information regarded in moving into the city. So Lieutenant, any medical conditions?"

"Most certainly. Life has got it in for this chap. You see, he has the following conditions."

The lieutenant cleared her throat and began to read out a long list of problems in the mercenary.

"His pancreatic duct appears to have been blocked at some point, and digestive enzymes have, as a result, dissolved part of his pancreas, and furthermore he experiences stomach ulcers, renegating his diet to a strict dietry regime provided that he has been following to the letter. He has incredibly weak muscles that need to be loaded on a regular basis. His solution is... unorthodox, but apparantly it works. His bones are incredibly weak. The prediction is lack of bone cells due to not having enough energy, and the mitosis is more often used for bone repair. He appears to be coughing up and vomiting blood, and severe effects of past malnutrition are present, only made worse by his diet. He's to skinny, he has an incredibly vunreable structure, and his immune system is lacking in some regards. Finally, he appears to be In constant pain from something undetermined attempting to rip itself from him."

"I'm not even sure Biology works that way. Wow, even science is going out of its way to screw with him. Bloody hell lieutenant, you just gave me next weeks entertainment. Sneaking into his tent and putting delicious food in clear view of him. My mRNA, he is going to be pissed off."

The lieutenant decided to speak up.

"Sir, first off, I don't think DNA and RNA have been discovered, or even thought up of as a theory yet, and I have done some background checks on him, finding the most likely subject of extreme malnutriton based on his country of origin, as well as simply ask him his name, and I can safely say, with evidence, that he is-"

This proved to be a fatal mistake as she was immedietly snapped up and devoured by Ragathzbar, who had come out of nowhere, and the demon retreated to leave two very scared men and one bored Lancaster. Lancaster turned to the second lieutenant.

"Congragulations, you're promoted. Now, I am bored of pointing this out, but that is exactly why we do not reveal spoilers. Now, she was meant to be a character vital to the plot. She would have reminded that Amestrian in the city of a lieutenant he knew and everything, and she was meant to get a huge badarse moment when she basically fucks over the corrupt ccouncillor Hoplite, but now, alas, that is not to be. Now don't screw it up, lieutenant!"

The newly promoted lieutenant gulped, fear obviously in his eyes in that he would become an aide to Lancaster, of all people, but he had a habit of just getting on by normally.

"So people, this dragon with an agenda must be mad to fight with all those injuries, but what the hell, he's an important character. Now, let us move on to our third character. The evil genius. Basically the smartest of the lot, but not really. He ties with the dragon in intelligence, but he gets renegated because he has less of the 'agenda' qualities. His real name is Julian Haynes, and he is... well, he is a alchemy using chaotic evil psycopath from a place called Creta who seems to exist purely to kill, maim and slaughter all the people who ever lived. I think he just took this contract to kill as many people he could in that city. Now, while this Is incredibly hilarious, his mental condition leaves even me worried. As soon as he is finished, I want him bloody well disposed of, preferrably a fatal bullet to the head, and the man who trusts him is an absolute berk. Now, lieutenant, any conditions?"

The lieutenant shifted his feet nervously.

"Well sir, I should probably point out to you... I can't read."

Lancaster gave an "are you serious" face, then replied back.

"Right, well you're demoted then. Still, we don't need it anyway if we are just going to kill him for being too dangerous afterwards. So, what about our fourth person? The brute. Now, her real name is Rebecca Benson, and she is Amestrian. She has a really interesting backstory. You see, she murdered someone, was caught, and was executed. Except she wasn't. She was instead, and Jones, you may relate to this. She was not fatally injured, like you, but she had transferred consciousness to a suit of armour. After this, she was, according to her, sent to guard a secret research lab where horrific experiments were made, then released when a coup put a new government in power. Wishing to be accepted as human, she scoured the land until she found Angloterra. Now she constantly accepts contracts from us, and we let her hand out with our soldiers, normal and empty armour alike. She seems content with her lot, but she still has her murderous instinct. She will happily kill civillians if it makes her job easier. She is probably our best mercenary here; I doubt that she will betray us if needs be, but she likes to stay away from the other mercenaries. If we need a spy or ally against either the dragon or Julian, she is our best bet. Medical exanimation is useless, since she has no body."

"So she is alone. Guess she has 'no body' to go out with, eh?" Said the recently demoted second lieutenant.

Lancaster took his pistol out from his holster and fired a single shot, the explosive noise echoing through the air, a sharp noise that felled the silence that surrounded the camp and bringing with It a clear message.

The second lieutenant slumped dead, brain matter on the wall of the tent behind him as Lancaster lowered the smoking pistol.

"Bloody hell sir! You... you just killed him! Have you gone off your rocker?"

Lancaster turned to Jones, staring into the non-existant eyes of the man.

"He made an incredibly lame pun, Jones. I trust that you will not make the same mistake?"

Jones stood up to Lancaster and stared back with as much intent as he could.

"I though that you were a father to your men, sir"

"Even evil has standards, Jones. Or morally grey, depending on how you see Angloterra."

"What he did was not even a wee bit wrong in comparison to what you just did, sir"

"Learn your place Jones. This Is not the happy go lucky military. We're Angloterrans. You may be the only sane man, but If you want that blood seal safe and a steady job, then you will obey any fucking order! Do you hear me!"

"A-Aye sir."

Lancaster smiled, pleased to see that his new subordinate had learned the tools of the trade so quickly.

"Good. By the way, you're promoted to lieutenant. Now the last person, who I shall dub the chick despite being a man due to a lack of a better term, is an incompetent Xingese Alkahemist who bollocks' up everything he does. He only survived until now by being a comedy relief character and Is likely to be a pain in the arse for us. I want him dead, ASAP. If the rebels can't do it, give Rebecca a new assignment. His name's Zhang Sing, by the way. If all else fails, do to him what we plan to do to Julian. Now Jones, I believe that I am bored. Give me a fucking coffee before I strangle somebody with the entrails of a dog I just kicked."

The one o clock sun dispersed a heat upon the masses that bustled through the streets, on their way to the lunch that many hoped to achieve today. This being a desert, the sun was unbearably hot, and with scarce resources of water due to the siege, the crowds below had no choice but to withstand the heat until the day's duties were done. The market was still open in the main square, however many of the morning vendors had dissappeared from view, for some their day was over, and they had returned to their homes for an extended rest, or to the library to engage in the art of absorbing both fictional and non fictional literature into their vast minds filled with potential. Behind Edward, the masses came out of the Shihada, their prayers to not God, but the goodwill of humanity complete conveniently in time for lunch. The replacement for the morning vendors was the food stalls that sold a variety of meals, ranging from simply bread, with maybe a bit of meat inside, to the cous cous and lentils that Edward had had last night, to the sellers selling the few kebabs that remained in the city, to general sellers selling all kinds of cheap meals. The siege may be occuring, people were dying, the water was rationed and the threat of death existed, but all these people were just ordinary people who carried on as normal, letting the conflict go by.

Life had to go on. Sure, people could use others to their advantage, people murdered others, and the Angloterrans had huge artillery pieces that destroyed the town and attempted to topple the walls, but they could rebuild. Yes, although the town was ravanged by disease, the walls held fast, a symbol of defiance against Angloterran rule. Yes, the Angloterrans could roll into town with enough firepower, but the alchemy that had governed the lives of the people within the city held the Angloterrans fast.

No matter how bad, hope ran through the veins of all within the city walls. Some hoped for freedom, others for peace. But hope ran through all, for this city had survived the destruction of their various cultures.

And Edward, wittingly or not, was a part of it. He was a man who came in hope of knowledge. And whatever the Angloterrans had done to stop him had failed, for here he was. With help, something which brushed his pride, but he learned how to deal with pride long ago. Literally, thanks to Kimblee.

Edward was currently finishing the scraps of food from the small dish that he had been provided as he stood in front of the announcement square. He decided that he had the point of view of the anti-imperialists, and he could probably guess Angloterra's motives for this paticular conflict, but he knew that a rebels point of view would be a good thing to have. Edward finished his meal, a meal that reminded him quite a lot about the meal that he had eaten in Ishval from when he was invited there as thanks for his actions in the promised day, and a toast to a new Ishval. As he disposed of his dish, a conversation caught his attention.

"Please? Just a bit of bread for an ex-rebel?"

Edward turned round to see a man, Hassassian skinned and golden eyed, a clutch supporting him where his right leg came to an abrupt end, asking a tradesman for a small flatbread, and the tradesman shaking his head. However, the next remark caught his attention.

"I am very sorry, but that damn Hassan Alexander put his prices up again. I swear, he won't rest until he Is the only bread trader around. I would like to, and any other time I would, but right now I only make enough profit as it is. Alexander's the one you want to be hating right now, not me."

"I know, it's just... just that I put my life on the line to help the people of this city, fighting those bloody Angloterrans, then my leg gets blown off, and suddenly I am just a poor cripple! Is that equivalent exchange?"

"No, but if I keep giving away bread like I did before... the short term would be good, but In the long term, I'll wind up just like you. No offence, and I am most truly sorry, but if I go down, then Alexander may take my grain, and then be one step closer to monopolising the market."

"Sigh, I know. Sorry to bother you, and I know that you have to keep your profits, just to stop Alexander even slightly, but I am starving. Its not the first, but everybody gets this. Can't get a job, due to this bloody stump of a leg."

Edward decided to help the man as the one legged man started to leave the stall. He may be harsh, and maybe he did ignore the woman earlier, but he had a heart, so to speak. This man deserved bread, but he was willing to forgo it in a sensible manor. He begged, but seemed to understand the needs of others. Indeed, he had often put the needs of others in front of his own.

Edward did not know what it was about this man which made him believe him, especially when compared to the woman earlier. Stepping up to the stall, he asked the price of a small flatbread.

"What currency, sir?"

"Angloterran grams"

"That will be two kilo twenty, sir."

Two kilo twenty? Edward saw what the guy meant. Even the increased price on the train for normal bread amounted to one kilo fifty.

Angloterran currency, originally Terran, had grown up on the basis of the price of bread, namely one gram for one gram. A kilogram was a thousand grams, there were fivers and tenners, and it went up according to the SI units after that.

Admittedly, the inflation changed until it was not the same, but the essence was still there. But now was not the time as Edward got out some change for his lunch.

"One please. For him."

The tradesman's eyes widened, then he broke into a smile.

"It seems that even the rich can have a heart. If anybody deserves that bread, its him, and if anybody deserves that money, its you."

Edward called after the rebel, who turned round, looking at the eighteen year old quizzingly. Still, this allowed Edward to catch up, and Edward offered out the bread.

"For you."

The man looked at Edward, gobsmacked. For too long the man had seen the cynical side of life, and to be given a chance to eat for once was something he had not expected. Still, he was a polite man.

"Oh, thank you very much for offering, but really, I'm-"

"Just shut up and take the fucking bread"

The man laughed heartidly and took the bread from Edward's hands, thanking him as he did so.

"Well waters cleanse me, you really are helping an old Xersian rebel. Honestly, with this blasted leg, or lack thereof, I don't have a job, but I guess that I can pay you respects with regards to information."

Edward was actually pretty pleased with himself. He had helped someone, and he benefited from it. Talk about a win win situation. He got info, the man got bread, and the tradesman got a sale. Edward decided to reveal what he would have done.

"Well, since my actual plan was to bribe a rebel, if you offer, I'll take it, but you aren't obliged to."

Maybe Alphonse had rubbed off a bit too much, Edward realised.

"Oh no, that's fine. I prefer an everybody wins situation. Just one piece of advice. Do not trust all the beggers. Rule of thumb, if they say please more than thrice, they are fake. True beggers understand first time."

Edward realised that he had just made a lucky break ftom the woman this morning. How many times had she said please?

"Now, what would you like to know?"

"Well, forgive me for asking this, but what is your view on the battle? I mean, you were a rebel."

The man took a bite out of his bread, savouring the taste that had not greeted his buds for ages now.

"Hmmm... come to the stairs, we can discuss this while sitting down."

The two sat down, and the man continued his speech.

"You see, most of the rebels want freedom and the ability to choose their own future. Some outright hate Angloterra, but I disagree. They're not half bad. Freedoms may have been supressed under them, but it was a good quality life, I must say. After all, the Angloterrans did what they could to uphold that weird charter of theirs. The only reason why I signed up to this rebellion is to protect the people of this great city from the inevitable Angloterran counterattack. Still, the rebellion is inevitable. People do not like being controlled by a foriegn body, even a moral one at that. But inevitably, the rebellion has It's problems. Water ran out quickly, the food supply Is dwindling, we are running out of meat, and death is everywhere. Needless to say, a lot of us are pushing for peace, and they are only further enhanced by the corruption in this city. Take into account, for example, people like Alexander. When the siege started, he quickly bought all of the farmland for grain inside the city, often through threats from his goons. Then, as the farmland outside the city walls was destroyed by those blasted Angloterrans, he just simply increased the price if grain to further his own wealth and monopolise the entire grain market. Now he wants the bread market too, so everybody has to buy from him. He is a bastard of the worst kind, using this destructive conflict for his own personal gain. If the Angloterrans win, I hope that he goes first. While at first everybody here supported the rebels and their noble goal, as this conflict drags on, more and more people just want peace. Humankind is cruel, but we have limits to our endurance. I mean look at me. I lost my leg in battle, and now look at me. In Angloterra, I would be a bloody hero with a hero's pension. Here, I'm a bloody cripple who begs for food and relies on the kindness of strangers like you. I mean, don't get me wrong, I support the rebels and want them to win, but I am realistic enough to see a lost cause. If the rebels do not have a plan up their sleeves, then infighting will rip it to shreds without the Angloterrans firing a shot."

The man took another bite out of his bread. Edward got up to leave.

"Well thank you for the information, but I have to actually go now. I wish I could help more."

"Oh, don't worry about me. This is not the first time I have been in a situation like this. I know that I will recover. It is the lifeblood of this city. Have you heard the saying of this city? No matter how bad things are, no matter how bad they get, we will recover, as we have done before, and as we will again."

The man bid farewell as Edward left the square. He had quite a detailed and rational view now, but he wasn't here for the war. He got some of the history and alchemy from the museum, but now he needed the full picture.

He needed the library. And no Angloterran or rebel would stop him.


	5. Chapter 4: Politics and policies

Right. 30 k words and only 48 views. Come on people, I am doing what I can! Another review would be nice to get an overview of what you think. Okay, now we can get an inlook into the leaders of Anglia and their plans. Also, we get to meet the team/quirky miniboss squad. Still, time to get an idea of the sociopathic Angloterra policies that come from a maddened version of the House of Commons (now that I think about it, saner is a better choive of words) It would be nice to get some information on how you view the Angloterran empire and Xersia; whom would you stand with? A response would be lovely. Now, let us move on to the mad, mad world of politics. Oh, please review or give any ideas you may have. I update large amounts at a time, so read the new chapters before they get pushed down the list. Or, you know, follow it. Still, there is a story to be done. Let's get on with it!

Arthur Cunningham hated these parlimentary meetings.

As dictator, he could, effectively, do what he liked and nobody could stop him. After all, he was dictator. However, he constantly found himself dragged into meetings about his policies. Now, the normal dictator would simply laugh and carry out his policy as normal, but Arthur was not a normal dictator.

Well, he was a suit of armour, but that was besides the point. Sure, he was considered inhuman by those who were not Angloterran, described as an abomination of alchemy, a science not even practiced with regularity in Angloterra, an empty suit of armour, with a classic armet for a helmet that had the eye slits, where those blood red eyes stared out at those around him, the peak of his visor level parallel to his vision but far below the eye slits that contained the only indication that he was paying attention. That was also besides the point.

The fact that he was the very creature that had been feared by so many children throughout the land did as little to distract him as the fact thst he could not feel the sensation if his hand coming into contact with any item, his body, or lack thereof, staying awake as all those around him fell into the blissful embrace of sleep.

He could not experience the explosion of flavours that his court experienced when they went off to enjoy the lunch often provided for them, unable to taste the all encompassing ale that he had shared with many a fellow officer throughout his military career.

Unable to feel the simple bliss that came with the physical embrace when he had returned home every night, his young, three year old daughter so happy to see her dad in all of his military and physical splendour, his aging face seeing pride in the work that he carried out, and pride in being a father and a caring husband.

It all changed that one night.

It had not been a peaceful night. Indeed, as cannonballs flew through the air, the sounds of gunfire from musket, pistol and cannon had filled the vaccum of silence and had provided matter to it, not in a physical but a metaphorical sense. Even though he was a dictator, he still had to lead his men.

The cannonball interacted harply with the entire right side if his body, blowing his arm off, his leg off, blowing apart many limbs and various organs, and destroyed part of his face. This much damage was achieved by sitting upon his horse, his brave companion who was felled by the same cannonball, and him being cooped up as a result.

Of course, being Anglian, he continued to give orders, but was in no state to resist being dragged off the field as a prisoner of his own comrades, and was kept alive in this impractical in every sense as of his day suit of armour. He was released as something else to rain down firepower upon his enemies.

Still, he missed his horse. But on the day that he returned, his beautiful daughter could not even recognise daddy. So she ran screaming in fear. Not far admittedly, only to her room, and once the initial shock was over she could, years later, relate to him as her daughter. But the message was clear. He was not even half the man he used to be.

Admittedly, he had outlived his daughter, a position that he should not have had to be in, but justified due to what he was. So he instead grew attached to his country. Even when she was still alive, his duty to the country outweighed his duties as a father. He was an abomination, but he had ambition. For Angloterra and for himself. He had manipulated and played as the chessmaster, playing off everyone and always benefitting. He expanded Angloterra, keen to invade and conquor new worlds. He defied the common laws that upheld humanity to some extent, but he saw ambition. And over time, he grew to learn to accept, and in the end preferred, his new body.

It has been said, since the dawn of alchemy, that a conciousness (soul, if you weren't Angloterran) never got used to a foriegn vessel. Not just repulsion, that even Arthur knew that he would one day experience in a violent eruption of energy from his blood seal, but in the form of never truly getting used to It, and always preferring their real body. Cunningham successfully defied this saying.

He need not eat. He need not sleep. He need not groom or comb. All he needed was a can of oil and knowledge of where his joints were. He did not need to constantly watch his back for assassins, since not much could break his blood seal due to his armour. He did not tire, always a benefit in the world of politics and war. He did not feel pain, for there was no body to feel It with. That was a huge benefit.

And finally, he could not die from disease, age, or any other biological factor that could spell his death, for he had no body to affect. Only an alchemic rebound, the rejection of his consciousness, or his blood seal smashing could kill him.

He was a man who weighed up the pros and cons if being this suit of armour, and the more he lived, as he surpassed the lifespans of his daughter and his short lived granddaughter, the more he became certain that this form, no matter how others may see him, is the superior. The beneficial form that he wished to keep, storybook monster though he was.

He was fully concious and nobody could take him down easily. He was dictator of Anglia, and really the person driving Angloterra forward.

Still, before our off topic rerouting, he was not a normal dictator. You see, he was at the top but not abusive. When his policies came through, he made sure that the MP's would debate it. They could not stop his policy, if he decided that it will be carried out, but their suggestions and critisisms could help make a policy that is not a foolhardy one. If someone critisised his policies, he would not simply write their names in his notebook to die in fourty seconds. No, he woukd listen, take in their complaints, find any advice, and provide a change of policy, or explanation, that would satisfy them. They may not agree, but if the majority of MP's agreed with Cunningham, then he could safely carry out their policies.

That did not even begin to suggest, however, that he liked these meetings.

Now, normally these occured in the house of debates, but since the house was closed, apparantly due to constraints regarding a public matter of great importance for which his attendance was not necessary. Basically, other people were using it, so instead the MP's had gathered at a nearby hotel for their debate.

The current debate was regarding the recent turn of events in Xersia, and applying military pressure; not armed engagements or blockades, mind you, but a complete and total display of their military prowess. The debate involved all of the MP's, but really the two of importance were MP Thomas Crow of Buxley bridge, siding against Cunninghams movements, and MP Joseph Warden of Anvilsmith, contesting for the continuation of his policies.

"Order! Order!" Yelled the chairman of the debate. Now it should be pointed out that despite being grown men with very important roles in society, it was common for participants to suddenly revert to the mental age of twelve year olds collectively. Thus, the chairman kept order. However, it was common for him to fail and start swearing instead. These were politicians he was dealing with here.

"Now, fine ladies and gentlemen of the collective interests of the people of this country" began Thomas, raising his voice to a audiable but still clear pitch. "As of now, another detachment of one thousand more Angloterran soldiers will be arriving in the desert surrounding Xersia. That is right, they are arriving there even as we speak in this courtroom today. They are not becoming part of the assault, even as the remains of several Angloterran soldiers felled in combat or simply through action on behalf of these Xersian terrorists are sent back for their families to grieve over, and as yet more soldiers lose various limbs in their struggle to quell this rebellion. So tell me, why after one month, despite having one of the mightiest, if not the mightiest, military forces in the world, Lancaster has been incapable of taking this city that has eluded retribution by our military for more than a month now!"

A few murmers of agreement rose up from the crowd of MP's sitting behind him. As he paced the room, he pointed out Cunningham.

"Our dictator has stated himself, and I quote, that "everything will be sorted." So why, a month after this statement, has Lancaster still not swallowed his fear and invaded that blasted city! Why is it that our men sleep uneasy, where even our vaccinations cannot account for all the diseases, while the Xingese sleep easy, knowing that yet more of our men are no longer providing a threat to their trade. Why do we let this embarassment carry on in our back door, showing that simple rebels are capable of withholding our highly trained military with nothing more than some dodgy tactics and cheap Xingese weaponry! This makes us look weak and pathetic, both to our political enemies within Angloterra, the enemies of our combined empires, and the subjects of our rule who wish to rebel? Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Angloterra! A great, prosperous empire, who's all powerful and all conquering military is stumped and chained to one location by a bunch of Idealistic rebel bastards!"

A grand applause rose from the audience, the men and women clapping the rousing speech that grabbed the attention of all the men and women in the courtroom and refused to let go. Thomas had always had his way with words, and indeed that was how he got to parliament; this was a man who could provide a debate for even the most radical and insane of ideas, and still make it presentable. His natural charisma won people over.

However, one must be aware that I specifically said 'people'. These were Anglian politicians. As such, he provided a souped up argument, but the debate would not end in his favour unless all of the politiciams agreed to do so.

The next man to stand up was Joseph. Now, Joseph was not the man you would like to meet. While he seemed normal at a glance, it was clear that something was wrong with the man. Now, unlike most Anglians, he was not a psycopath, but he did have a long history of sexual harassment. However, he was a damn fine politician, and his sex scandals did little to remove him from his position; he had been a force of good for his constituency, and, more importantly for Cunningham, he seemed to have the uncanny ability to predict the moves and motivations of the dictator. Thus, he would often side with the dictator, so long as the policy appeared to be reasonable and not flawed.

"Mr Crow... I can see why you think that this is a stupid Idea, but the reason is clear. Lancaster does have more than enough to take the town, but the man is not an idiot. Remember how half the Gaulian army was buried alive under sand and stone? Well Lancaster is not making the same mistake twice. Yes, it is true that we are being embarrassed on a world stage by this endless siege, but you tell me what is more embarrassing; a long delay in taking a city, or losing half of one's army to a bunch of bomb throwing anarchists?"

A murmer of surprise, followed by a mutter of approval, filled the room.

"As for all the soldiers, I shall keep it brief. They are here to show that it doesn't matter how well equipped you think you are, if you go against Angloterra, then we will come down hard upon you! That is our message. Bearing in mind that it is northern Xingese clan weaponry that is being used, I believe that this sends a clear signal to Xing that we will use the full extent of our military prowess to ensure that Xing cannot act, and must abide by our trade regulations!"

"Objection!"

The speaker was a young man who had stood up, and he went on to reveal what he was objecting to.

"You claim, Mr Warden, that this Is to ensure that Xing cannot act. If that were the case, would we not put a blockade upon Xingese external trade? No, I believe that the purpose is not just sending a message!"

Joseph turned around to the man, looked at him, and smiled.

"No, you are quite right. A blockade would be effective and give a clear message. However, It has come to my attention that we are gathering lots of soldiers at Xersia. I believe... I believe that we are using this little siege as an excuse to gather our troops near Xing's border, and to make a clear example that we are here, just outside your border, only a short train journey ahead, and we are armed and ready to invade!" Replied a particularily savvy MP, before Joseph could respond.

A gasp had echoed around the room. While several people had been expecting increasing diplomatic tension with Xing, none had expected war. Not yet anyway. Arthur smiled, metaphorically, given his lack of a mouth or any physical features. He knew that the true purpose was only to give the illusion. After all, Angloterra had very little information on the great nation of united clans, and a war with an unknown enemy was suicide. But if Xing prepared for war, then the weapons would not be going to the rebel factions within Angloterran borders. And if he applied this pressure, then some clans may cave in and offer a new trade agreement, one which the Angloterrans would be only too happy to accept.

"To Intervene, the purpose of this debate is strictly on the agenda. This current debate on war with Xing is to continue no more." Said the chairman, garnishing attention from the increasingly unruly masses. The original debate kicked off almost Immedietly.

"Mr Warden... your claim of embarrassment may be justified, but the second is a point that is causing more harm than good? Surely we do not need more men to take the city? If a small Angloterran division is capable of taking it, then surely more men is useful only for populating our streets with crying widows! All we are doing is making it seem unnecessary. Currently, it seems that our military is strong and powerful, yet we cannot take a small city without a huge number of men! That makes us seem weak. All this does is increase the risk of disease, reduce our food, and give more bodies for those terrorists to fire at and kill! Our men are not so worthless as cannon fodder, they are Angloterran citizens from all over our Empire! We have a diverse community of cultures in our military, not just us olive skinned Anglians, and by our empire we will not renegate our proud, diverse military to meer mooks! My friends, are you going to take on board the idea that our men, the loyal soldiers who keep us and our interests alive, are meer cannon fodder to a gambit?"

Arthur raised his hand, hoping to give a reasonable response. He didn't like getting involved, but he had to inform the council upon this one.

"Just to clarify, the soldiers are being sent not to the main camp but a reserve camp well away from the city. I had anticipated that, but well done for pointing out a flaw that you found in a plan that I have not mentioned my solution to."

While Crow had been praised, he elected to look annoyed. However, a female behind him stood up.

"Mr Warden, you have failed to notice the comittee on what the potential effect of this rebellion on other communites looking to rebel against our rule. If one rebellion can hold for so long against us, what will become in the future?"

A collection of 'ooo's' occured, and the chairman placed his head in his hands. Soon, this meeting would spiral out of control.

"She speaks the truth, people." Exclaimed Thomas, voice finding passion as he found an opportunity to push his case forward. "If we do not crush this rebellion today, then the symbol of defiance that is Xersia will send a clear message that we can be trifled with. We, the Angloterran Empire, will spend the rest of our days combatting rebellions from communites that want to be free, and that is because the longer the city stands, the brighter the glimmer of false hope shines from within it. Is this how we want to spend our days? Or do we want to prove to this nation, and the world, what happens when one resists the might of Angloterra!"

A almighty roar of 'yea' filled the courtroom, thickening the air in the makeshift debate room in the special functions room of the hotel, threatening to tear the walls down in the commotion. The chairman had to intervine, calling "order! Order!" As he slammed his mallet down upon his wooden desk. He looked shakidly at Arthur. The two of them knew exactly what would come next.

"Mr Crow... I am afraid that your bird brain..."

Yep. There it was. Right on schedule to.

"... Is incomprehensible of the idea that whatever we do, that hope, that foolish illusion, remains regardless. No, to crush the idea of rebellion, we need only wait. Let them starve as we siege them out, and let them see what happens when we disappear from their city. Wait for the corruption to run rampant, the disease to spread, and wait for them to experience the punishment that awaits all those who refuse our advanced and fair way of life; the absolute reduction of their entire way of life as they regress. Show the world that if you resist, when you surrender, you will surrender willingly. That is hoe we discourage rebellion; military pressure and displaying what happens to those who chose to defy us of their own accord!"

A large cheer of 'yea' filled the room, estimated to be the same volume as before, and Arthur knew that the next sentance would kick off the twelve year old politics.

"Who's word do you take? My word, or one of a sex obsessed fiend?" Replied Thomas to the insult. A echoing chant of "ooooohhhh" filled the room. Really, these politicians never grew up.

"Oh he's a fiend all right... fiend to your mother!" Yelled a MP in the crowd.

An even larger cry of "oooooohhhhh" rocketed around the room, and it was this moment that provided enough activation enthalpy for a vicious political reaction.

Rather quickly, the room exploded into a mess of squabbling, anger, passed insults and responses thar left one considering wether these men and women were fit to be politicians. The chairman tried to remedy the situation, but his actions were futile, and he ended up denting the wood with his mallet while screaming at the top of his lungs "Shut up! Shut up you bloody wankers!"

And as the war of paper balls, and eventually paper airplanes, began, with unused paper being used as weapons in an unofficial war with anyone in your line of sight, Arthur Cunningham let out a sigh that echoed around the empty shell that he was as a paper airplane flew past his face.

This was exactly why he hated Anglian politics.

...

In contrast to the starving city where people were engaging in their early evening events, often simply returning to their residence to commute with family, the Angloterran camp was actually pretty wide awake. That is not to suggest, of course, that the Angloterran camp did not contain sleeping soldiers. Many soldiers were asleep, but the majority were engaged in consuming their latest meal. Many of the soldiers were enjoying a freshly cooked meal. You see, rather recently, a surplus of food supplies had arrived. Given the main camps close proximity to the train station, supplies, as well as uneeded but provided anyway, additional men. You see, while Lancaster had a lot of men in his main camp, the vast majority had been assigned to a camp further south; officially they were there for support, although many in the camp believed that an army was being gathered, and this rebellion was the excuse.

In anycase, although more mouths had to be feeded, more food had been provided than necessary, especially meat (not horse guv. Honest). Given that the meat had to be cooked, an open but controlled fire had been created in the middle of the camp, and the cooks were more than willing to let the soldiers cook (and burn) their own meat over the fire, happy to have a day away from cooking.

Now normally, the luxuries such as cooked food and a beer tent would be eschewed in this situation, what with such close proximity between the soldiers and the rebels, but given that the risk of an alchemic attack and the long siege had been dragging on, these luxuries were granted to the soldiers in reward for their initial success.

You see, the battle had quickly commenced, and ended. The risk of alchemy was quickly acknowledged, and the rebels found that their baiting tactics to make the Angloterran military move into the city for an indeterminable reason, but was almost certainly a reason related to ambushing and destroying the division, was soon put out of play. To counteract, the rebels engaged in using the sewers to ambush the soldiers. Quickly, the Angloterrans responded, and vicious engagements happened in the sewer. At first, both sides had advantages and disadvantages. The rebels had years of knowledge of the sewer and gurillia tactics from Ayan on their side, while the Angloterrans had superior training and equipment on their side, as well as a map of said sewers.

At first, common knowledge paid off, and many Angloterran soldiers found their advantages useless when they were ambushed from multiple angles by rebels cloaked in the dark crevaces of the sewers, and many of those lost their lives on those days. It Is unknown If any Angloterrans were captured and tortured to death, although it is likely that a couple met their end in this manor, but as his men died, Lancaster authorised said procedures to be carried out upon the rebels if It meant saving his own men from future ambushes.

Quickly, the Angloterran military changed to a more cautious approach, moving slowly and using various tools to defeat the rebels in the sewers, including gas, and this change in procedure, especially when combined with a map of the sewers, meant that the Angloterrans were able to evict the rebels from the sewers in a matter of days. When the siege began, and as the civillians starved and grew ravenous for the simplicity of water since it was rationed, the Angloterran high command decided that a few drunk, and soon to be harshly punished, soldiers, was worth the boost in morale for the men, and a few of the luxuries of home. Furthermore, troops started to be cycled around, some moved in and some moved out. While the main camp had got a lot smaller, the army camp nearby but away from the city had certainly increased with size as time had gone on.

But the soldiers in the main camp were relatively content. Casualties had been extraordinarily light, even despite all the advanced training that led to small numbers of casualties anyway, and victory was to be expected. The soldiers were likely to see their families again, and a bunch of fights were coming out of it, much to the delight of these Anglians.

Amidst the last hours of daylight in this desert, two figures stood upon watch duty, eyes kept open for any intruders or moved boxes.

Admittedly, since their army could now spare entire tanks to go after one man, these two senteries were not particularity worried by the prospect of an escaping intruder. Thus, the two kept an eye on the town, sunlight reflecting off the brilliant vibrant dark blue dome that covered the palace, golden spike still visible from the camp.

Now, despite the clear advantage to the Angloterrans, it was still not safe to wander at large; snipers remained upon the walls of the city ready to blow the head off any soldier who could not keep his head out of their sight. To combat this, countersnipers were commissioned to remove these threats with fragments of metal travelling at sufficient velocity to puncture the skin of a living man who had dared to take up arms against the Angloterrans. This had proved to be an effective tactic, although occasionally an Angloterran soldier would be felled by a man he never saw. Still, this did little to deter the soldiers.

One soldier, a young scruffy man with an unshaved beard, turned to his taller counterpart.

"How long's that army camp gonna be there, anyway?" He inquired to his comrade.

"Hard to tell. Word is that they are about to move anyway. Could be invading Xing tomorrow, for all we know mate." Came the reply.

The two men counted down the minutes, or rather seconds, that it would take for their position to be relieved by their next in line for this shift, already overdue, unaware of the mercenary behind them having taken a keen interest in their conversation. Now, Lancaster had just broken the fourth wall outright rather than medium awareness to tell you, dear reader, that it is blantantly obvious that you have logically guessed who this man is. Now, there is one glaring point other than name or description of physical features that would point out who this very unmysterious man is, but I shall keep this a secret for suspense, for those of you who can not guess who he is (you genre blind sods) and for fear of Ragathbzar. Still, the man did ponder as to how far he had gone out of character. Dear dear dear, the author had cocked up big time regarding him.

As he left, he could hear the discussion continuing behind him.

"Can you spare a couple of quid mate? I'll bring you an ale as well."

"Bugger off. Go get your own grams."

"Fine! No bloody delivery service for you then!"

While he had sworn before, he did note the alarmingly frequent rate that the soldiers had sworn over his time here. He philosophically pondered whether it was the new handshake. He quickly dismissed this as he returned to his peer at the bonfire, the sounds behind him drowning out as the soundwave reduced in intensity.

"Well this public service broadcast thing! You know, Angloterran Broadcasting Corporation! Load of bollocks, that is!"

"I wouldn't be too hasty. The ABC is pretty good."

"Ah, we'll find out who's laughing twenty years from now!"

"Two kilo says that I'm right, lad,"

"Its a done bet mate. No backing out."

It was all the mercenary could do to keep the ale he was holding from spilling out of the cheap cup as he chuckled lightly at the exchange.

Nearby, warming up a slab of meat over the roaring bonfire with a metal stake, sat the unofficial leader of the mercenaries upon a log, Alexander Fields. Now, Fields gave the demanor of a calm, collected induvidual, but in truth he was a little bit worried. You see, Fields respected Doctors. He understood the risks that they had to undertake, marvelled at their required academic achivements, was flabbergasted by the amount of training undertaken by even a single doctor to ensure that they could even begin to be acknowledged as one, especially surgeons, and was amazed at how they could handle the pressure of holding life in their hands while he, as a mercenary, could only take thst luxury away from others.

Still, the camp's doctor scared the living daylights out of him. While the guy was quite sociable, and clearly took great satisfaction in saving lives of others, he had gleamed over Alexander, viewing him as a 'perfect specimin'. This had done wonders in the art of unnerving a certain Anglian mercenary.

The request to dissect him alive was what drove him into becoming an extremely wary fellow who was watching his back for that doctor. He had brought this up with the Lt Colonel's aide, but she had randomly dissappeared this morning. Nobody seemed to know where.

"So, here is your ale."

Alexander looked up to find himself staring into the eyes of his apparant second in command. Lancaster insisted on 'dragon with an agenda', but Alexander knew his true name. As he thanked him and took the ale, he had to admit, this guy was not what he had expected from a mercenary.

This 'dragon' was quite a kind, sociable chap who was helpful and good with people. As this man sat down, Alexander pondered why he liked the guy. He realised, without a doubt, that It was because he helped civillians.

You see, he had, on more than one occasion, caught him using that alchemy of his to keep civillians safe from the crossfire. Now, usually this was done under the disguise of "I will blow you into sufficient pieces to create a mosaic", but he had spotted a couple of blatant saves. Still, Alexander never reported this,since the man fought and chances existed that he might kill, although this was to be confirmed by dead bodies, rebel forces, and it also fitted in with Alexander's policy of only targeting combatants and worthy opponents, although he did admit to the man that he saw him do it.

Another thing that Alexander was aware of was this man's rather tragic backstory. While he knew many here were murderers in an act of war, he himself was a man who cared for their backstories, and this one was indeed tragic. Not to mention that it seemed that his own body was trying to kill him, just to increase the tragedy.

"You know, I must admit that I am aware of with that investigator. You know, Charles. No matter how secretive you are, you can't keep it from me. Now, I have little reason to care, but why did you become a mercenary in the place of an investigator? Were you the one that resulted in those investigators always knowing where we were?"

The mercenary stared into Alexander's eyes as the head mercenary took a lengthy sip from his ale. When he finished and his full attention was placed back into the second in command, the Mercenary answered the first man's question.

"I have little reason to hide it. Yes, that Is the case. I did give out information to him to help keep civillians safe. However, I was also investigating something with him. I am afraid that this Is between me and him only, but we might hire you, should the situation demand It. Someone else may be in this game here."

Alexander nodded and turned to him. Of course, he had been here from the start, and he knew something this man did not.

You see, the trench that surrounded the town had been a full circle, but it had been reduced since the siege had gone on to no longer being one. However, Lancaster had given him strict orders to keep this a secret from the two men; apparantly, it was advantageous to have them trying to find something in case anything else showed up.

"I knew you weren't a true mercenary. You never seemed like the type anyway. Still, this stays between us, right? You see, I am a mercenary, but I have morals.I believe that man should not be forced into murder for a simple contract. I only target combatants. I mean, I will not lie, I am proud of my country. I am proud of the Angloterran empire. Its the practices in warfare that made me leave the military and become a mercenary."

The other mercenary leaned forward, intrigued by the upcoming story.

"Please tell me; what was it that led to you becoming one?"

Alexander cleared his throat and began to recite the story he had told many times before.

"You see, early on in my career, I was assigned to Lancaster. He was a good commanding officer, but one day we were ordered to quell a terrorist organisation. The terrorists had the popular support of the local people, seeing these men as liberators from us. So we were sent in to quell this little revolt. At first, things went well, but soon it became apparant that we could not find these men. Meanwhile, our men died by the hands of said terrorists. Eventually, it became so bad that Lancaster took drastic action. You see, he cared deeply for his men. So he carried out a procedure that haunts me to this day. He told the civillians, and us, that from then on every Angloterran soldier killed by terrorist action would be avenged by the death of ten civillians. I-I took part In said massacare. Almost as soon as it happened, the terrorists were sold out and we arrested and executed them. But on that day, I decided that civillians should not be killed In the place of combatants. So I left the military, disappointed with the murders that had taken place, and became a mercenary. And for me, it is civillians are not combatants. Now don't blame Lancaster, he was just sick of his men dying and wanted to keep them safe, but I believe that I don't need protection if it costs the lives if innocents. I mean, if they shoot at me they are fair game; self defence on my part against a combatant, but If they refuse to attack me, it is my obligation to return the favour."

Throughout the whole story, his comrade had listened intently, the fire burning intently as spits illuminated his face slightly. Finally, after a few moments of silence that seemed to last an eternity, he spoke up.

"You know, I believe that you made the right decision. It is easy to forget the needs of others when oneself is on the line, but you kept your humanity throughout. You did the right thing by leaving. You may be a combatant, something which I fear I will become if I cross a line you have crossed, but you kept your humanity throughout. You showed that the lives of innocents are worth more than your own, and as from what I have seen, only those who fire upon you are fired upon. In fact, you seem to prefer disarming non combatants who still fire upon you out of fear, and you hold your honour lightly. You have reason to blame yourself for the murders under Lancaster, even if they were orders, but it is nice to see that you redeem yourself with a personal code of conduict that so many people choose to forgo, many of whom I had seen. It is nice to know that there are some selfless people, even if someone else chose to authorise these actions for you."

Alexander smiled. While he had toured the world, it was nice for someone to see him for what he was. A murderer, yes, but one who only killed those who would target him. He respected the lives of innocents. Human lives were lost to him, but he would ensure that the lost ones were fully aware of the risks, yet carried on regardless, bravely fighting as combatants, not fleeing as innocents.

And one day, he thought, he would fall to, and he hoped that the man who would fell him was just as worthy an oppenent as he was, maybe even more honourable. Then he could die happy, if a better man had defeated him. He was not a death seeker, but if he was to die, he hoped that the one who defeated him, even if non lethally, was a man who surpassed his years of experience in both ability and morality.

But until then, he would carry out his contract to the letter and fulfill his side of the bargin, as he had done so so many times before.

Still, he was a tired man. As the man started to cook their meat, he went over the days events. He had been doing night raids with his peers, but now that the new contract had come in, the situation changed. You see, he and 'the dragon' had been carrying out daytime reconnosense in place of night raids. While this was preferred, since It negated the need for killing or unnecessary slaughter, or risking civillians, it was undoubtedly wrecking havoc upon their sleeping schedule, and the two men were ready to go to bed early, at least sleeping in the night rarther than day for once. Although honestly, Alexander knew his peer, although having a body, simply did not need to sleep, much like Rebecca, although he was not sure how his peer did so.

"We're here because we're here because we're here because we're here! We're here because we're here because we're here because we're here!"

The little two lined song had been echoing troughout the camp now, becoming a little part of camp life. You see, although these soldiers were members of an empire, they were people too, with lives and families. The latter was rarely talked about because it seemed that anybody who did suddenly died in a climatic moment, and the Angloterran soldiers were dangerously genre savvy and had medium awareness. However, a soldier came over to the two mercenaries.

"Good work today mates; at least you get to do shite. Not many people understand why Lancaster won't let us in, but he always seems to know best."

"Any paticular reason for your cheerfulness?"

"Sigh... Im getting sent back to Anglia tomorrow. Guess I need to know everybody right? Things are so boring back home, but I guess that I can't argue with orders."

A bark sounded, and just as the man finished, a black Labrador placed his snout on the man's lap, panting and wagging his tail in anticipation of a slice of meat.

The dog was actually Lancaster's, despite the completely contrasting personalities, but functioned more as the divisions dog. As such, everyone knew him, and he was not disappointed as the soldier gave him a bit of delicious cooked meat and a good hearty stroke on the head.

"Don't worry boy... won't forget you, that's for bloody sure!"

As more soldiers came over to the dog (more than once, an Anglian army was defeated by releasing a bunch of big friendly dogs at them. They are literally incapable of resisting), the two men went back to a important topic.

"So, any luck today?"

"That is a negative. No proof of any rebel tactics. However, that crime syndicate, you know, the one which is based in the middle class part of the city, they could be trouble. Anything on your end?"

"Turns out there is a corrupt councillor. Bashir Hoplite. Otherwise no, I could not find anything. That escaped fugitive is still at large though. You know, the guy with the guy who blew up the train filled with orphans and puppies?"

"Noooo! Not the puppies!" Yelled a random soldier.

The two men turned to each other with a blank expression upon their faces. However, they soon continued.

"I heard rumours from around the town that there Is another Alexander, a namesake, who people hate, but no evidence. Blimey, sneaking through the city is hard."

"In that? I am surprised you can even stand, let alone sneak. And yes, that Is an obvious clue to the reader as to who you are."

"Medium awareness. Stop, or fourth wall. Yes! I finally get to say that!"

The two men continued to discuss interested parties, but quickly diverted to their peers.

"Rebecca, Mr Fields... I symphesise with her, with good reason, and I know what she wants. She just wants to be accepted. Now, the Angloterran military is great for her... people see her as we do, as a human, but does she have to be a mercenary?"

Alexander remembered the girl. Now, she was loyal, and although a little bit antisocial, she was desprately trying to fit in. Alexander pondered wether he could live like that, but it was clear that she despised her predicament, and longed to return to her original body. And while there had been hope for a moment, it was quickly shot down. Her body was long gone, disposed of by the Amestrian military as she was told that she would be shunned by society.

And when she came out and heard the story of Edward Elric, she realised that she had been fooled. She had hope, but left the country in anger and fear. You see, despite the coup that rescued her from her dungeon of a labatory, she was a murderer, and she was wanted. Not to mention that Alexander and 'the dragon' (really, do I really need to call him after the trope? It is clear that the reader knows who it is by now) were a bit reluctant to approach her, since she had no problems blowing up civillians to get her way. So they had told her how they felt about her current form, but pointed out their distaste in her tactics. To their surprise, she thanked them for their understanding, and mentioned that they had every right to show distaste to her tactics, but pointed out that she would not change her ways. Still, the two sympathised with her, but kept a wary eye on her. If she caught them helping civillians, she may well report them. She was likely trouble.

"I believe that she is too far gone. We may consider her human, but she has done some inhumane things."

'The dragon' nodded, then turned to another point.

"I despise Julian though. That man is seriously messed up. No distinction, kills pretty much everybody... is he just the human representation of pure evil?"

"Actually, he might not be. Believe it or not, I managed to talk to him without getting too many new scars... Cretan alchemy hurts. Anyway, he actually claims to despise war, and he says that the most powerful faction is the one that can end it. Also, he claims that he wants to end all war by wiping out people so that its horrors are clear. Whether this is the case or simply an excuse to kill as many people as possible, I have no idea. I think Lancaster intends to dispose of him."

"Indeed. Hopefully he answers for his crimes in a prison, although I doubt tears will be spilt if he were to die. Finally, what about Zhang Sing?"

Alexander leaned back and brought his hand down inna humorous manor.

"Ah! Don't worry about him! He'll be fine! He can't hit anything worth shit, and he seems to be invincible!"

"Comic relief armour. Nice."

A soldier came over to the fire and began to roast his meat as well.

"Zhang Sing? Let me give you a story guv'nah! I once saw him trying to karate a training dummy. He missed. So then he fought it. The training dummy won and knocked him out. No kidding! Cor blimey, no wonder his clan kicked him out!"

Most Xingese were highly compotent. People like Ling Yao and Lan Fan come to your mind when I mention this. Zhang Sing... rumour has it that he opened the gate, but lost his competence as the toll. Another joke was that his competence was a separate being entirely. Basically, he is comedic relief. In fact, on a scale of one to ten, he gets minus infinity in competence, but plus onehundred in likely to survive. His primary attack was to make enemies fall over laughing (lethal joke character depending on height of the fall) with his incompetence. He was hi-larious.

Still, the two men discussed who was heading into town tonight.

"So Rebecca, Julian and Zhang are heading in tonight, while you, me and Rebecca head in tomorrow... I suppose that we had better get a nights rest." Said Alexander, finishing up his ale. "Oh, and thanks for talking. You certainly know how to keep a mercenary happy."

'The dragon' smiled and headed back to his tent. To tell the truth, he kind of liked Alexander. At least the man had morals which he could discuss about. To be frank, that man wasn't much of a 'big bad' at all.

Still, they were a quirky miniboss sauad.

As the two men left, two soldiers nearby, finally relieved from their patrol, took bets on what the outcome of their friendly relationship would be.

"Oi, mate. Two friendly mercenaries, similar morals, but one's actually working with the investigators... they are definitely going to fight. Twenty kilo's backs me up on this one."

"Nope. Not betting. The outcome is obvious. However, twenty kilo's says that Alexander is going to be the one who dies in that fight."

"Shove off. Ain't gonna fall for that one, chum. That is obvious as well."


	6. Chapter 5: Gotcha!

And another chapter pops up. Yes, I think I will go beyond my estimation. I wonder... can we hit 100k words? Only one way to find out. Now for a fight. Yay. Let us see what cliche thing is going to happen. Still, there is a story that I have to do, and procastinsting will only lead to boredom, so place your bets on who will get involved. Seeing as I already said so, that should be easy. Oh, and now everything gets idealistic and cynical at the same time. Think of this as the early film quirky miniboss squad, if you will.

...

It was rare for Edward to experience a good day for once.

While the man at the museum had been nice and informative, and there had been a clear display of the rich history of Xersia, the simple problem remained in that the museum paled in comparison to the wealth of information sealed within the bindings of books in the library, its knowledge ready to be spilled out to the observant in a multitude of ways. There were those who said knowledge was power, and any Angloterran would back them up upon their claim.

To Edward today however, there were two important studies; history of Xersia and alchemy.

The history was rather interesting, but sadly often neglected to go into detail. This was often due to Xerxeans despising their own country for their usage of slavery, and the fact that very few objects and traditions survived both the emigration from Xerxes and integration into Hassassian culture. However, a few key historians from both Xersia and later Angloterra attempted to garnish the remaining history from the Xersians.

As far as the museum and books combined went, apparantly the people of Xerxes had a civil war over slavery, much to Edward's surprise. it seemed that the abolitionists lost, and were driven out. Indeed, much of the information was there, and Edward had to admit that the fleeing Xerxeans fled quite the distance. Apparantly, it was to do with acting as travelling refugees, camping in one place one night and packing up in the morning in the search for a new civilisation to join. Many died along the journey, but many more made it to their future as part of the remaining Hassassian culture. Also, Edward did not miss the opportunity to learn as much as he could from Xerxean culture, including the food eaten there, the limited agriculture that seemed to have developed into the agriculture used in Xersia today, the wars that Xersia had participated in, the governing system, the royal bloodline, the formation of the language, the usage of alchemy in everyday life, the general usage of medicine, admittedly one of placebic effect rather than an actual efect on the patient, and finally the usage of what is now known as Alkahestry alongside Alchemy, although at the time it was all considered alchemy.

But alas, the information was few and far between, and unreliable at best. While certainaly more detailed than that of Amestrian history on the city, when compared to the goldmine of information that was Hassassian history, Xerxean history was sorely lacking. Edward remembered his father, Hohenheim. If only that bastard had just a little more strength to write a book than to just die on his arse... damn it, such a wealth of information could have come from him, the last living Xerxean. But now history had to rely on shady books and the word of Xersians several generations down the line, and tibbits of Xersian culture that was not either Hassassian, Gaulian or Angloterran, or newly developed.

However, one thing Edward did know was that the princess, by keeping slavery, only enhanced the chances of a certain human transmutation circle to produce a phillosophers stone. And that in itself joined to the one in Amestris... Nay, Amestris itself. But all he could think about was that fateful day.

Turns out that Honenhiem's (and Al's, to an extent, mainly regarding that eastern alchemy circle) counter gambit paid off, especially as Grumman played off the whole coup like the chessmaster he was, to stop it. And even then... one tiny mistake in placement of the stones, and everyone would remain dead, trapped forever inside a philosopher's stone, screaming until they were used and discarded in a alchemic reaction.

Edward was glad that such a circle, or even human transmutation regarding bringing back the dead, was not even visible, or mentioned in any of the alchemic books that he had read. Thank truth for that foresight.

Edward suspected that one reason was that the Xersians knew how Xerxes met its end, but it was likely that people learned that the alchemic taboo really had consequences. His leg was solid (or really, lack of leg was clear) proof of that. But in the end, the atrocities of alchemy lay hidden and buried hundreds of miles from here, in the remains of Xerxes, and that is where Edward hoped they would remain, and hoped that Amestris took steps to ensure that it cannot ever be researched and used again.

A Xersian alchemist, well versed in the usage of souls, had quite a bit on Angloterrans and alchemy before his death in 1908. Specifically, the soul of an Angloterran. You see, from historical records of alchemic reactions, and a bit on Angloterran attitudes, and even Xingese chi, it was apparant that Angloterrans do not have a soul. Indeed, many Angloterrans would laugh the idea of a a soul right out of a window. But what the alchemist theorised they had based upon lack of souls but existing blood seals was something that actually left Edward even more confused.

Manipulative conciousness.

It seemed that, in lieu of a soul, the manipulative conciousness took hold instead. This conciousness was incapable of functioning without a brain, for it was the result of all of the body's cells working together, with neurological functions that were estimated to come from protiens and electrical stimuli, but there was a catch to it. You see, it was hard to explain. The conciousness functioned as If a body was acting without a soul, replacing the soul in the mind-body-soul alchemic representation if a human. It eluded science, but theories and experiments, some successful, had come into play, furthermore expanding into conciousness.

But It was a conciousness that could evaluate, analyse, conclude and respond using manipulation of the biological chemistry. But some saw this as a bit of a parasite, for if transferred, although some systems were lost, depending on what a soul would lose in said reaction, it could then take over what it had been transmuted to, and would dominate It through the lust for power and will to live, if the form was worthwhile, and it would refuse its original body in favour of dominating the other. The new body could not just reject the conciousness as it would a soul. It had to destroy it, and that was quite impossible for an inaminate object. As such, the mind may decompose, but the conciousness would alter its new form to function as a second mind and remain in control.

Edward theorised that this conciousness, inexplicable but there regardless, a simple collection of receptors and effectors in a mind that it seemed worked for every cell. Nobody could explain it, but there was proof that it existed and that it had an effect on other forms. Blood seals.

The reason that Edward had theorised why the dictator of Anglia had been one for so long and in a stable condition was that the blood cells changed in some way, literally becoming a mind, and although Edward was unaware of the existance of DNA, only having biological knowledge of 1917, as certain cells changed their own genotype as genes turned off were exposed to be transcripted by mRNA once again. It explained how the blood seals... changed over time, unlike what Alphonse's had done, although Edward theorised that to some aspect the conciousness may use the souls of the dead, as Alchemy had done due to Father's actions, and that this conciousness was actually acting as a mini phillosophers stone, using dead souls to bypass equivelent exchange, much like how a homonculus lived.

The man writing the book certainally believed that Angloterrans were a different species of human, and this conciousness only came about when alchemy was finally introduced to Angloterra.

Nobody knew that the second point happened to be introduced to Angloterra. It was strange how the very alchemic composition of Angloterrans was changed by alchemy into a being seperate of the two. Not an intermediate step but one of an entirely new direction that will piss of scientists for centuries.

There was a reason why souls were the key ingredient of a phillosophers stone. They were inexplicible and powerful in a alchemic sense, just as conciousness was powerful in a manipulative sense. A conciousness would take over a foriegn vessel if advantageous, while a soul would actually transform a foriegn vessel by using itself as energy, but could also take over foriegn vessels with the right transfer.

However, it must be said that this is not accepted as a scientific theory in the world. In fact, since the existance of this conciousness is only seen to be observed in Angloterrans who have spent an undetermined amount of time in an area that has had extensive alchemy, apparantly mutating their own conciousness from a purely biological to a subset of chemistry, and the fact that very little evidence existed for this bar blood seals, of which Edward only knew of one type and a changing type. Because evidence was unreliable and transferred conciousness only worked in some and not all cases, any self respecting scientist from any nation, even alchemists used to the idea of souls, found this to be a utter fantasy. Since It did not conform to the scientific method, many believed what was also the truth, and likely the only truth; Angloterrans are nothing more than biochemical constructs following the natural laws of the universe. Even the author pointed this out, that such a concept, although impressive and explanatory, failed when placed under the scientific method. This did not, however, stop a few determined scientists from trying to prove his theory correct.

The Xersian died a happy and wealthy man in a upper class district of Gaulia.

Still, Edward wondered if Alphonse had anything to say on it. Assuming if he could find him, for he had slipped off the radar.

Meanwhile, a Angloterran radar operator was confused as to why the annominities in the phase difference and interference, and amplitude, suddenly disappeared from his screen. Apparantly, the man he had been following because he was bored had slipped. So much for science.

Now, one final point on manipulative conciousness. It is not to be confused with the shortened version of the Angloterran description of a blood seal, known as "sentient, semi sensory manipulative conciousness".

If everything I just said up to now did not make sense to you at all, you would be getting a pretty good idea of what Edward, and indeed many scientists, felt about manipulative conciousness.

But in that sacred (it was officially endorsed as such by Angloterra) library was a wealth of information that Edward picked up like a pack of cards stuck together that could not be played. Specifically Alchemy.

Now, although truth's toll for Alphonse's body, a toll that Edward would never regret once for the rest of his life even if it did make day to day tasks harder, was the ability to use alchemy, or realistically the knowledge on how to use it, he could still research it and study it, for his knowledge of the arrangement of matter and its link to alchemy remained in full. He could still understand the processes and the needed circles of how to transmutate, and he could still describe alchemy better than many professors of alchemy, both due to his intelligence, and his 'reward' for human transmutation. And he could still find the beauty and glory that alchemy held in those books, a simple splendour that kidnapped, consumed and engulfed, quite literally for Alphonse, the Elric brothers from the day that they first heard about it. It turned out to be a huge mistake, but now that that mistake was over, with a punishment that Edward saw befit despite Alphonse's insistence that it was not fair on Edward, alchemy was once again the childish flair within their hearts. Just not as optomistic towards its potential this time.

The library contained all sorts of alchemic information from Xerxes that had not been lost deliberately as had much of the culture and history. As a science, the refugee Xerxeans found no need to dispose of it as they had done so to some aspects of their culture in shame, mostly the idea of slavery and royal heretige. The first thing that Edward noticed was that it was extremely similar to Amestrian alchemy, although Father was definitely the reason as to why. It was also similar to some of the Alkahestry circles that Alphonse had provided. However, once again, Father was to explain that, although this time Father meant 'his father', I.E. Hohenheim.

But what intrigued Edward to the extent that he had to be thrown out of the library at a very late time, when night had befallen the city, were two things.

One was when both Alchemic and Alkahestric reactions were conjoined using the same circle. That was something that intrigued him, for with Alphonse's knowledge of both alkahestry and alchemy, Edward wondered if he could create one of these circles. Talk about new knowledge. And mixed with the newfangled biological alchemy east of Xing, who knew what they could create? That would fill up two thousand volumes. Edward knew that the two would have to pass on as much as possible before they died. Maybe he would be immortalised in name as Edward and Alphonse circles were created. Wait, WTF?

"Wow." Thought Edward. "Am I really that arrogant? How the hell did Alphonse not just smash his blood seal or my head in? Blimey, Al had inhuman self restraint."

Indeed, it should be noticed that more than one person who took an interest in experimenting on Alphonse (usually followed by the two brothers awkwardly walking out of the door then running like hell) was not basing it on the fact that Alphonse was an empty suit of armour, but rather Alphonse's self restraint. Yes, people actually found that more fascinating than the blood seal.

Another thing that fascinated Edward was the lost alchemy. Lost alchemy could be considered alchemy and alkahestry that Father and Hohenheim never taught for some indescribable reason, may have never been passed down to new generations, may have had been lost in books and notes to everyday reasons, or simply may have been lost to time. Really, anyway that would result in the deletion of information from records and possibly the minds of people. But it remained for the knowing descendants of Xerxeans, bar Edward and Alphonse, and now it seemed that with Alphonse's STUPID BULLSHIT (what was Al thinking? And Lt. Colonel? Mustang was full of the latter, that was a certainty) position, and Edward's previous contacts with the military, it would not be so difficult to introduce all of this lost historical knowledge to Amestris. Hell, Angloterra knew more on this alchemy currently, what with Xersia being a colony and all, and they could only universally do was one reaction with the help of a inefficient process that provided too much energy and required too much as well.

As I mentioned earlier, Edward had been thrown out of the library late. As such, he was currently moving down the side roads at night. In fact, he was passing an alleyway.

Now, alleyways were something that Edward and Alphonse had never quite grown genre savvy to ignore, despite it being a great place to be cornered by mad Ishvalian state alchemist serial killers, to be attacked by generic serial killers, or a favourite hang out spot for kidnappers and muggers. Once, in an act of what could only be described as utter stupidity, Edward had gotten himself kidnapped in an alley. While Alphonse was admittedly two steps away. Now, Alphonse actually had a excuse for not noticing. He called out to Edward that he couldn't help because he was being possessed by a demon, also hiding in said alleyway. In the end, although neither of them knew, said demon was Pride having a little experiment, and because the kidnappers got away with a potential human sacrifice, Pride hunted them down and absorbed them. Nobody was ever aware of this happening.

Still, this time, someone else was in the alley, being beaten up by three goons who conviniently happened to speak within earshot of Edward.

"Loaf of bread for one kilo two fifty? Who are you buying your grain from eh! You know well that you may only buy from Alexander!"

"Look, I'm sorry! But if I don't sell at this price, me and others will starve!"

"Ha! I'm not worried about your struggles, we just want to know who you buy your grain from!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"We're not asking! Mohammed, beat it out of him!"

A series of struggles and rather unpleasant noises came from the alleyway, with cries of pain from the man victimised by the at least two men. Edward peeked into the Alleyway, and saw four figures.

While Edward could not make out eye colour, a Xerxean skinned man, most likely Mohammed, was beating up a Hassassian skinned man, most likely a shopkeeper. Two more figures stood aside, one Xerxean and one Hassassian, although once again eye colour was indistinguishable. The Xerxean skinned one turned to his Hassasian counterpart.

"Watch closely Humzah... this is how Alexander likes his shit done, you hear me?"

Edward remembered the discussion between the old rebel and the bread seller, and remembered Alexander's outrageous prices. It appeared that this was how he achieved all of the grain. Talk about illegal monopilisation of the market. Edward decided to intervine.

Climbing a nearby roof, much to the chargin of the woman inside trying to get her baby to sleep, Edward approached the three men and decided to get the drop on them, literally.

Mohammed felt a unnaturally sharp kick to the back of his head from high above and fell unconscious as he failed to acknowledge Edward landing on his body.

The other Xerxean skinned man, who Edward now saw had golden eyes, drew a knife from his belt and motioned for Humzah to move behind Edward.

"Never should've come here!"

"Reference, boss" replied Humzah.

"Sigh, alright. Hey, look at this dumb short kid trying to play hero! Get him!"

The man wasted no time thrusting with his knife at Edward, but years of sparring meant that he easily sidestepped the thrust before following up with a jab that sent the man falling back slightly. However, Humzah was more patient than his comrade, and waited until just as Edward was distracted jabbing the man before wrapping his meaty arms around Edward, holding him in place.

The Xerxean skinned man stepped towards Edward with murderous intent in his eyes, brandishing the knife with a smirk across the left side of his face.

"Well, can't have you interfering. It would be nice to finish you off here, but that will just bring the rebels down on us. Nah, we can always send a message though. Maybe a nice..."

Edward knew that struggling was useless, as Humzah's arms lay locked around him in a grip tightened by fear of his boss more than fear of Edward. Instead, Edward simply drove his automail foot hard into the Humzah's shin, causing the man to grab his foot in the immense pain that being smacked by automail could cause.

"Gah! Is that metal?"

Edward blocked the Xerxean skinned man's downward thrust with his automail leg, causing the man to lose his grip on the knife, and quickly gave a punch while the man was distracted by the invincible leg. The man quickly regained his composure, and gave several wild punches and kicks in quick succession, but despite Edward never having defeated Alphonse in sparring barring one time, these men were small fry. The man was quickly felled by several automail kicks to the head, and Edward turned to find Humzah, who Edward saw had Hassassian eyes, holding his hands in front of him as a sign of surrender.

"Where... where did you learn moves like that?"

"A woman far scarier that you three coukd ever be."

"You don't mean... Izumi Curtis?"

That question actually caught Edward off guard. The two cultures had never met and still someone had guessed his position and another his teacher. How do people know these things?"

"Yes. How do you know of her?"

"Who hasn't! That woman is a crazy child hurting psycopath! Look, I want to leave intact... Alexander is hiring us to beat up shopkeepers who sell bread cheaply so he can find out who is selling grain in the city and steal it illegally, often through threats, to make sure that people can only buy his outrageously overpriced grain! However, he keeps his records on his person, which include lists on people to interrogate, which could get him arrested if the rebels were to find out! And he is waiting for us in front of the Mill inn as we speak!"

Humzah cocked his head at a dumbfounded Edward due to the sudden confession.

"What... did you think that I was stupid?"

Humzah ran off, leaving Edward with the Hassassian skinned, golden eyed shopkeeper. The shopkeeper got up and spoke to Edward in, admittedly broken, Xerxean to Edward.

"Thank you my friend... I can't give you much-"

"Oh, don't worry. Will they give you trouble again?"

"Likely... I can report them, but with the siege, not much can be done. Not going to stop me though... just go with the crowds for me in future, that should keep me safe. Still, thank you Mr?"

"Elric."

"Ah, Mr Elric... tell you what! Come to my stall anytime! I give you bread free as thanks!"

"No really-"

"We Xersians never forget a favour due. Now then, I shoukd be able to get home. Once again, thank you very much. I wish that I had more to give, but grain that a anti-Alexander movement gives me is pretty much all I have. Once again, thank you!"

The man waved at Edward as he left the alleyway, while Edward pondered why he could not stop being a big damn hero. That was going to get him killed one day, everyone had said it. Still, he had to take down Alexander... Mill inn, that was where he was. Edward decided to confront the man, assuming that heleft his bodyguards behind.

Still, as he moved on, he swore that he heard gunshots. He assumed that it was the rebels firing on the Angloterrans in the night, but Edward had to admit that the shots were rather close.

If only he knew how close they truly were.

...

Edward saw Alexander in front of the mill Inn, just as Humzah had said before having the common sense to run as far away as he could from IzumI's student as possible. Alexander, Edward saw, was Xerxean in both skin tone and eyes, but the corrupt businessman was clearly this man, for he was the only figure outside the inn, arms folded as he waited for his goons.

Alexander had traditionally being a simple grain seller with his foundries inside the city walls. With the siege, and with Angloterrans no longer breathing down his neck as his rivals who grew grain outside the city lost their goods to the Angloterran siege, and the rebels focussing all their attention on the Angloterran military surrounding the camp, it did not take him long to use threats, hired muscle and burning the grain of rivals to establish his monopoly, whereupon he could charge outrageous prices and estabish his increasing fortune. Of course, the rebels noticed, but without much evidence, the beige clothed rebels with those beige caps were unable to prove him guilty. So, he got clean away as the rebels could not prove anything and lacked the manpower to do so.

He also knew that Isosceles was too much of a moral person to authorise his imprisonment based on suspicion alone.

So you could imagine his surprise when a fellow Xersian, albiet one with clothes much closer to that of Angloterra, came up to him and asked his name.

"Are you Alexander?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow at the youth, but did nothing but respond."

"Yes. What do you want with me? I'm busy."

"Busy as in waiting for three guys who were attacking a shopkeeper. I can safely say that they will not be meeting you."

Alexander needed not another cue or even a spoken word to know that this Xersian, who he noticed looked very foriegn, was definitely after him. To tell the truth, Alexander was a bit of a coward, unlike his namesake in the mercenary group (which averts the one Steve limit. Twice). As such, he quickly took off, shoving Edward aside and hoping to lose him in the crowds of the main square as Edward gave chase.

"Who the hell is this brat!" Thought Alexander, sprinting as he ran towards the bustle of the main square. While Edward was quick to recover, his automail leg and Alexander's longer legs meant that Alexander was able to avoid Edward as he ran through the streets that he had memorised as Edward was still able to run in pursuit. They ran for about fourty five seconds, until the tables turned in favour of Edward at the mouth of the square, where a large flock of civillians were moving in the opposite direction.

Although the horde ignored both men as they ran in the opposite direction to the two men, the vecocity being smaller and in the opposite direction, the crowd would separate when the two men pushed past the crowd, but Alexander, due to his taller build, had to push more against the people, while Edward could duck when necessary. When the two finally emerged from the sea of people, Edward was once again on the heels of Alexander. But one rebel in the square, pistol at the ready, noticed Alexander.

"Stop sir! It Is not safe here! Turn back!"

Alexander, and consequently Edward, ignored this warning, instead moving towards the stalls ahead.

Alexander was the first to arrive, but even he stopped when he saw what lay ahead. Edward successfully tackled him, but was as well distracted by the sight that had frozen Alexander in his tracks.

In front of the stalls lay corpses. These corpses ranged from civillian to rebel, the killer indescriminate of skin tone, eye colour, gender, profession, whether the person was armed or a rebel, or even the age of the person.

The last point was hit home hard when Edward saw the corpse of a young girl, eyes glassed over and bleeding from a wound that had pierced her heart. To an extent, even Alexander took disgust at this scene, mouthing "bastard" at the scene of bloodshed that lay upon the ground.

And as if to illustrate the killer, a female rebel fired at her attacker to little effect. Although the majority of her rounds impacted her target, the target did not stagger or falter once, instead grabbing the rebel and stabbing her through her head with a bayonet taken from a rebel who had been felled by the attacker earlier this evening. As the rebel fell dead, the attacker turned to the two men and drew a large knife, obviously modified to fit in her hands.

The reason for the modified knife was that the attacker was clad in, although in actual fact was, a giant suit of armour. This gave a brief moment of surprise to Edward as he considered why she was this. Was she one of those Angloterran soldiers bonded to one due to injuries? Edward quickly refuted this as he leapt to his feet, Alexander also. Joshua had mentioned that Angloterrans preferred normal sized suits. Apparently they could still shoot guns.

The assailant was quicker than Edward had expected, and had used Edward's time thinking to close the distance between them. It bought its hand and knife down fast upon Edward's right arm, and only the automail port that had been a hindrance for so long since he got his arm back avoided him recieving a stab that could have a fatal follow up to his arm. His assilant gasped a little bit in surprise. The suit of armour quickly recovered, charging back but at a slower pace this time, aiming to hit Edward's head and avoid any of those irregularities that had saved his arm. Unfortunately for the suit of armour, Edward had had years of experience fighting larger suits of armour, specifically Alphonse, but also the slicer brothers, who had nearly killed him, only a quick instinct of a reaction saving him, which gave him experience in dodging the weapon.

The fight went as expected. The suit of armour would attack, pressing on to damage Edward with its knife, while Edward would dodge continuously, waiting for an advantage to knock her head off and expose her blood seal.

The suit of armour swung its knife downwards at Edward, who dodged to the left hand side. Yes, not many people could withstand the results of Izumi's training, Homonculus, Scar, and trainees such as Alphonse, and Izumi herself, excluded. However, the suit of armour was quick, not being deadweighted by a body, and quickly resumed the attack, slicing from right to left in a vicious slash with its dominant left hand. Edward ducked, but was a little too late to dodge the vicious kick from her left leg. To Edwards fortune, the kick, which might have shattered bones otherwise, impacted his left automail leg, but it left him off balance for long enough to allow the suit of armour to barge him with its side. Edward fell backwards, but was quickly cut off by a knife to his throat.

The suit of armour gestured to his leg, and muttered one word as a question to him that explained so much about it.

"Automail?"

Edward could right away determine that the voice was female, and the accent, as well as the topic she had brought up, told Edward that she was almost certainly Amestrian.

Given that she had killed civillians, Edward decided to strike up a conversation to stall for time a little bit before she most likely killed him.

"Yes... but you are an empty suit of armour, aren't you? Are you a labatory guard?"

The suit of armour hesitated for a moment, before chuckling to a certain extent. She never took the knife away from Edwards face.

"Impressive. Not many people realise the first until it is too late, but you are quite correct on both counts. And it is my contract to kill any rebel, or civillian, in this city, but know that I take it because Angloterrans see me for who I am, not for what I am."

Judging by her speech, she sounded middle class, and Edward suspected that she must have murdered to be a labatory guard, although he could be wrong on both counts. And now it seemed that he would get stabbed.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed around her armour, and for a moment she was frozen in shock. To her left side stood Alexander, pistol from a dead rebel aimed at a gap in her armour.

So the cowardly tradesman actually had some guts, Edward thought. Obviously, Alexander felt that what the woman had done was crossing the line, and had decided to act as the rebel forces had acted.

Unfortunately for Alexander, it seemed that he missed the part of the conversation about empty suits of armour. As such, he was quite startled when the woman turned around, grabbed him and stabbed her knife clean through his right eye, forcing him to let out a blood clenching scream as his life ended in a brief moment.

Although Edward had used this distraction to roll to the side and get up, he was sickened to think of seeing people killed right in front of him. It was not the first time, but its brutality reminded him of the poor soldier who had died when they had first encountered Scar. Still, it gave Edward the advantage he needed.

"Stay back! We'll handle this!"

a small group of three rebels had gone down onto one knee after appearing from behind the stalls and began shooting their rifles at the suit of armour, trying to take it out. A couple of bullets went through, but not enough, and the slow rate of fire on the rifles was a fatal function as the suit of armour pioritised the new threat, charged the three man and killed their leader.

"You inhuman bastard!" Yelled a second rebel, for he was aware of what she was, having blown the head off a suit of armour earlier that day as a sniper, only to be shocked at what was (not) inside. He was quickly ended by a brief but deadly decapitation.

Although two rebels had died, and the suit of armour was about to slay the third, Edward now had a chance to get another attack upon the suit of armour.

"Separate the blood seal!" He yelled loudly to the third rebel as he climbed up the back of the distracted suit of armour, grabbed hold of her head, and ripped It from the main body in a desprate attempt to locate the blood seal.

Instead, he fell to the ground as the armour collapsed, a deadweight, and him and the head he held toppling with it.

Edward hit the ground hard, but was quickly helped up by the very fortunate rebel.

"You did it! How... how did you do that!"

Edward quickly searched the body, but could find no identifiable blood seals. He suspected that the slicer trick would not apply. Quickly, he picked back up the helmet and checked the back.

Bingo. The bloodseal was there, staring at him with anger, or at least as much as a bloodseal could provide.

"How did you know... I swear I'll-"

Edward gave the helmet to the soldier, still confused as ever, and described the circumstance.

"As long as you do not attach the helmet, she should not be a threat. You can lock her up or something."

The soldier stood bewildered, but quickly regained his composure and talked to Edward.

"Thank you civillian. You saved my life, and the lives of others, from this... inhuman alchemic abomination. We-"

Edward snapped at that comment. He quickly approached the rebel, jabbed his finger in the man's face, and described what he felt about her.

"Listen to me you ungrateful bastard... she is fully human, and not an abomination. She is aware of her predicament, but she is human. And human I want you to treat her, you hear me?"

A chuckle came from the blood seal, followed by "so you do care. How can you be such a pest yet so understanding?"

Edward never got to answer that question, for the soldier backed off with his hands up in surrender to Edward.

"Alright, alright, but after what she did-"

"Is precisely what the criminal justice system Is for" said a fourth voice emerging from the stalls.

A lean, thin man with Xerxian skin and Hassassian eyes (brown eyes) emerged from behind the stalls, temporarily illuminated among the stalls from a small light of a ciggarette from one of the beige uniformed rebels beside him. The man had his hands clasped behind his back, and his uniform, also the same as the men around him, was decorated with a black shoulder pad that signified him as a council member.

The soldier saluted to the man.

"Councillor Hoplite!"

The man, with a long face and developing beard, waved the man off, signifying him to be at ease.

"Don't worry, I saw the little commotion. Thank you civillian... wait, are you a traveller of Xerxean descent?"

"Am I really that obvious?"

"What? Foriegn hero saves the day? Yes, you must be a traveller. Still, of Xerxean lineage... I did not think such another culture existed. Really, you must meet representative Abdul Isosceles. I'm sure he will be dying to meet you."

Just in case you did not know that this guy was corrupt despite it being said in an earlier chapter, he smiled at the word 'dying'. In fact, the only thing that would make him more obvious was an Angloterran accent, but he didn't have one. However, since I have not specified the Xersian accent, It could be British for all you know, thus giving him an Angloterran accent anyway, although then everybody else must have a Angloterran accent as well, because Angloterra basically is alternate universe Europe. Confused? Anyway, enough about being obviously evil.

"So, I suppose you have removed this threat from civillians?" Asked the man, viewing the helmet with a fantasial obsession, especially the blood seal.

"Ah... who thought that such a strong opponent would have such a glaring weak spot... it says so much about the world. Hopefully, Alchemy shall be this to Angloterra... I promise, we'll send those olive skinned, brown eyed bastards back to where they came from!"

A couple of cheers came up from the rebel crowd, but this was quickly put off when everybody discovered that they were standing on a Alkahestric circle.

"What the hell!"

All of the men turned to a Xingese man, standing in front of another alkahestric circle. He quickly set off the reaction, and the light enveloped around the figures, ready to rip them apart in a alkahestric reaction.

Unfortunately for Zhang Sing, he was Zhang Sing, so only one molecule on the ground was affected. To reprimend his faliure, he drew a gun from the back of his trousers.

"It's the Xingese mercenary!"

"Look out! He's got a gun!"

"Stay in his line of sight! Stay in his line of sight!"

"As long as he is aiming directly at you, you will be fine!"

"Don't aim at him! Aim at me!"

The shouts only Irritated the cocky arrogant mercenary, but even more unfortunately for him, reality ensued and he was cut down by bullets, rifle rounds from several sources penantrating his flesh and ultimately resulting in his untimely death.

This shook Edward slightly.

"Was that necessary?"

"No, but he would only cause more problems for everyone in the future if allowed to live. Now then... what is your name?"

"Edward Elric."

"Ah... you should be proud, Mr Elric... your actions here today have saved many civillian lives. We shall place this helmet into custody, and I thank you for risking your life to protect the people of this town. This is also a great victory for the rebellion... one of these bloodthirsty, sociopathic mercenaries defeated in one night..."

"What about him?" Exclaimed Edward, pointing at the body of the recently deceased Zhang Sing.

"Oh, yes, he was a mercenary too, but honestly who cares? He was useless. Anyway, you were a part in defeating them. Come, you must be hungry and tired. I am sure that I can book a room and a meal at the Xersian circles... one of the finer inns around here, as a recognisation of your achivement. You have, after all, saved some of the innkeepers clients."

As Hoplite led Edward away, not exactly willingly but favourable to the latter, the soldiers behind them, and a few civillians who had gathered now that the chaos had died down, proceeded to insult Rebecca, the suit of armour, and kick the head around like a football. After all, these people may have grown to accept each other, but when the almost supernatural occured due to alchemy, some of the morals flew straight outside of the window.

Now, amidst the chaos of the fight in the square, some of you may have forgotten, but the more aware of you may remember that Julian was also out tonight. Given his nature, it may seem strange that he chose not to rip apart civillians tonight with vicious alchemic reactions. The reason for this was that he had been told to raid the palace by somebody. That someone had left soon after, leaving both the meeting place and the city, quite surprisingly. The man was an informer, an instigator, but not an interfering party. It was not his job to get involved after he had told the man what to do. The man was an examiner, and the current student to be evaluated was Julian, although others could become evaluated in the future.

The goal was not specidied. It did not promise wealth, or power, or glory. It fid not promise disease, death or destruction. The goal remained hidden, only what happened would be evaluated.

Angloterra would have failed, but had never had the test carried out. They were too large now. But Xersia, and maybe the Angloterran third infantry decision, would be tested, and the outcome would determine so much about the future of the city.

Yes, it could be admitted that the concept of a test was stupid. In fact, with very little control, it was less a test and more a observation. Would people do as he said? Who knows. He would not be around to see the procedure.

Julian thought so to a major degree. Such a test was enticing to him, to say the least, but he was not the only one listening in to the conversation.

At least two other people, one Xersian Investigator and a Xersian revolutionary, both with contrasting ideas, listened in, intaking such information and deciding on the best course of action.

And such, all three men promptly thought 'trap' and refused to take the case further. Besides, something else bothered the two Xersians, and the Cretan was more engaged with the prospect of destruction.

What lay underneath the palace, the result of the test, would lay forgotten, ignored, and would not be encountered again in the story. That room, containing all the knowledge and secrecy, unbeknownst to all but the four men, would never be opened.

...

Lancaster was very very bored. Bored bored bored bored bored. He was bored as he looked up at the boring city in the boring night sky while the boring song went up around him.

"Jimmy was a young lad and fresh out of the country! For all his life he was sheltered under the large oak tree! But when the shells dropped and bullets flew he held his rifle tight! For those who lived and those who died showed who won the fight!"

"And as Jimmy fought and Jimmy shot he saw his best friend die! For the man had showed the enemy that he was up high! So Jimmy swore and Jimmy cursed and gained his vengeance back! And blood stains covered his sweet hands due to his murderous attack!"

"Jimmy was a young lad and fresh out of the country! But the act of war and zealous soar made his oak tree flee! But when the shells dropped and bullets flew he held his rifle tight! For young Jimmy, the country lad, had killed to win the fight!"

Admittedly, it wasn't that boring a song, but when all the war songs had been sung twenty times over, it was incredibly boring.

And now more men were showing up, ready for war on Xing. That might be interesting, but Lancaster was worried that Xing would cave in first. Diplomacy was not a game he liked, or was any good at. He only liked war with someone else being the diplomatic bastard. He sipped the coffee, and decided that suits if armour made terrible coffee.

"Jones!"

"Aye sir!" Came the response. Do I even need to stress that Jones has a Scottish accent?

"This coffee tastes like a guy in a suit of armour made it! Now, I know that is the case, literally except for the loss of 'guy in', but seriously, where the fuck did you make this coffee?"

Now, Jones knew that Lancaster was a father to his men, but he could be the worst boss in the world at some times. He knew that answering the question was useless; it was a bit of a rethoric question, more an order to make better coffee. Jones simply did what he knew was best.

"Sorry sir."

Lancaster waved it off. He trusted that Jones had not poisoned him.

"Say, Jones... is it interesting being an empty suit of armour?"

"Nay sir. Its as bloody boring as not feeling anything."

"Ah" said Lancaster simply, drinking his coffee. Inside, he was dissappointed. He longed for a war with a very alchemically advanced nation. Maybe Xing? Or Amestris? Those came off the top of his head.

Suddenly, a soldier ran in.

"Sir!" Said the soldier, a Angloterran citizen who had become one by joining the military. He was already a major.

"Major Ulfgar... what Is the news?"

"The Emperor of Angloterra is on the ABC radio sir, with Anglian translation."

Lancaster waved the man off and thought how major Halifax was doing. He was currently supressing nighttime snipers in the city. Lancaster turned on the radio, just as the Emperor's blatant referance was commencing.

"Equality is not wrong! Inequality is!"

"How subtle" thought Lancaster sarcastically.

"Look how the town of Xersia defies our empire's global right to equality by denying the advancements that make our combined empires so great! How they choose to recede to a culture with discrimination, where our welfare system cannot keep the poor from... seriously? Cunningham wants me to read this shit? He can royally piss off, it is obvious that we are going to blow the shit out of them, assuming they don't fuck up so badly that we are the better option!"

Lancaster chuckled slightly. At least the emperor was honest. Still, Angloterra wasn't that bad an empire. They cared for their subjects, and had a strict moral charter. Yes, they could be almost stereotypically evil at times, but that was a small price to pay.

Still, Lancaster longed to kill some people. He was a bored man, and the city wasn't exploding enough. And yes, he was certain that a gambit pileup was beginning.

Still, he was quite surprised that some of his highly trained men were felled by a kid with a magnet for trouble. How does that kid do that?

Lancaster was not aware of Izumi Curtis, but if he had heard her name, he would be too bored to listen.

Lancaster sighed and hoped that one of the mercenaries would hurry up and die. That would make things interesting.

Lancaster knew that he would never officially be promoted, but honestly he didn't care. If he was sane, he would, but although he was reasonable, he was borderline insane. He wished that he was a dog. Dog's always had fun.

"Jones, could you tell the guys in the tent next door that I said both A. Woof, and B. You are all a bunch of gigantic sodding wankers?

Jones did not reply, but sighed. Why did he apply to the military? All he got was a lost body and an insane boss. Jones decided to join the navy as soon as he got the chance.


	7. Chapter 6: Idealism vs cynicism

How cliche was the last chapter? Ah well. It can only get more cliche from here. Or less, depending on the way it goes. Still, one cannot just laze about as I have been doing. It seems that I must move onwards if this story is ever going to end. Well, one merc down. I guess four more need to die. Let us proceed.

...

Edward was never a morning person.

Sure, he no longer had to sleep Al's shift as well, but that still didn't mean that he enjoyed getting up early. As such, it was quite late when he had finally awoken, proceeded to head downstairs after putting on his clothes, and walk into the breakfast room.

Because this was an inn, the bar, much unlike the pubs of Anglia, served a double function as a breakfast room. As Edward entered the room, he saw a face he sort of hoped he would not encounter again. Two to be more precise.

The worst part was that it seemed that the two were waiting for him.

One of the two, Joshua, waved him over to the table.

"Hey Edward! Over here!"

Seeing as the man had called, and the other tables were frequented by guests actually finishing their breakfasts, Edward took up the third of the four seats and sat down to communicate with Joshua and Ayan.

Edward suspected, judging by the other plate, that they had ordered him breakfast already. Talk about a railroad life.

"And here I was thinking that you said that you weren't going to get involved. Care to explain why you became a overnight hero?"

Edward groaned as he pulled in his seat and stared at Joshua, becoming a bit annoyed at his little smirk. Was this guy trying to make his best Mustang impression?

"I never said that I wanted to get involved. Trouble just... you know, follows me, right?"

"Does it not for everyone?" Asked the terrorist/freedom fighter/weapon destroyer/orphans and puppies killer. At least he was affable.

"Oh, stop snarking around, Joshua. He only just woke up." Said the third figure at the table, Ayan. She was still in her rebel uniform, beige military coat, reminding Edward a bit of an Amestrian uniform, matching her beige trousers, though her cap was deposited on the chair behind her.

"Great. Now come the height comments."

Edward was genuinely a bit surprised when Joshua and Ayan stated at him as if he had just gone mad.

"What, should I insult you for being just slightly less than average? I mean, you are well within the lower quartile, I presume. About the same height as an Angloterran."

A tiny thought nudged in the back of Edward's mind. If he was the same height, then why had the Angloterran soldier-

"In chapter one" stated Lancaster, for only he could break the fourth wall to point this out to you.

-Called him a shortarse?

"Maybe slightly shorter. Honestly, those guys have practically no average."

And there was the answer.

Ayan shifted herself, placing her hands on the table, clenched together, and started to input her idea to the circumstance.

"Well, rumour is that you saved a bunch of people. Took out that armoured mercenary with almost no trouble! I think one of the rebels said you knew exactly what to do regarding her. Although you nearly got yourself killed? What were you thinking!"

Ayan pretty much stated her character there. How she pretended to be cruel to her men, Edward had no idea. Instead, Edward decided to neatly step around the fact that he could beat a suit of armour, knew exactly how to deal with it, ranted when someone called it inhuman, and the ever present fact that he was nearly killed. Again.

"Uhh... what about Alexander?"

"Oh well done Edward." He thought. "Nice sidestep to the same topic!"

Ayan cleared her throat and began to speak.

"He died instantly from the wound. Now, no tears will be spilt over his death, and the shopkeeper you saved told us about how you saved him from his henchmen... although he at least died bravely. Didn't expect it, but unknowingly made a heroric sacrifice."

Edward remembered how Alexander shot inside the armour to no effect. Had he done so to... save him? Damn, everything got weirder. Next thing you know, they would be saying that Hoplite...

"Hoplite is a self centred man. Yes, he wants the Angloterrans defeated as much as you or I, Ayan, but I warn you not to let him get too close. If he can use us for his own benefit, he will."

Well, Edward's point just spoke itself. Funny how these things always occured at exactly the right time.

"I was aware of that, Joshua. But thank you all the same."

Edward saw her personality, and was a bit dissapointed to find that it matched Hawkeye's a lot. Would anybody have any trace of originality? Edward decided to find out if there was any originality in the uniform.

"You know, Ayan, you rebels are pretty well equipped. In fact, your uniforms seem to be even more formal than the Angloterrans I have seen! Still, is the uniform made exclusively for your rebellion from Amestris?"

Ayan's eyes perked up, her eyebrows raising, but quickly came back down again.

"You are extremely close, but no. This uniform is Cretan, but redesigned exclusively for us. Bought it from a Cretan trades company in Augero. You see, Isosceles wanted a trained army, not a ragtag bunch of misfits, and felt that a uniform could reflect that fact. As for the Angloterrans... they scrapped formal uniforms since 1850. It's all camoflague and functionality for them since then. I think that is why they are the only nation around here to use helmets, and goggles for that matter, often with the helmets, and they still have a uniform, but it is designed to be practical." Replied Ayan. "Still don't understand why the Anglians wear full face helmets though, leaving space only for goggles, when in actual combat. Why, its impractical and only serves to remove their humanity slightly." Added Ayan quickly.

"Yes. I heard that they are looking into bulletproof vests now." Added Joshua. "Now, back to your actions."

Edward caught the neat rerouting. He decided to ask about the suit of armour.

"Say, what happened to the woman I captured?"

Joshua turned to Edward, a look of interest in her eyes.

"They took her to the police station; Anglian made, we only had the palace dungeons before, and that was rarely used. They got her name, Rebecca, nationality, Amestrian, like you, and her mission, to disrupt rebel forces. She has not given us any information of the Angloterran forces or the other mercenaries, but she has admitted that neutral investigators are in the area. She does not mention what they are investigating, however."

Edward took in this information. Not much, admittedly, but enough to explain her reasons for being In the city killing rebels. Why civillians were on her agenda too was not clear, however.

"Is she being... treated well? I mean, the rebels didn't seem too happy to hold her."

Joshua exhaled, taking in the question, applying his own knowledge, and releasing his knowledge in the form of an answer, his neurons working in a complex manor as the brain that fascinated so many scientists and doctors set to work.

"I can't say for sure... I mean, don't get me wrong, I think we are the good side in this conflict, but... you saw yourself that everybody in this town is not lawful good. Or even good, for that matter. They won't physically torture her... that is impossible, but they might verbally torture her. Please bear in mind, we may know alchemy, but we might not be as... accepting of the consequences as the Angloterrans are. I would not be surprised if the guards do many things that would shame us."

Before Edward could voice his reply, Ayan stood up as a rebel soldier slouched past the window of the inn, not looking that interested in his own posture.

"Excuse me for a second. I need to keep my appearence up. It does help keep people like him alive."

Ayan quickly left the room, and Joshua caught Edward's attention.

"You should watch this... garuntee you it will make you laugh."

Ayan approached the poor soldier, and cleared her throat very audibly.

"Soldier!" She yelled as loud as her lungs could allow.

The soldier snapped round in a terrified manor, as if Ragathbzar himself was in front of him, and his eyes widened in sheer horror as he saw what was behind him, at least to him, was far, far worse.

An immoral human who seemed to produce unmelting ice that penentrated his confidence even in the heat of this desert.

"Eyes front, back straight, and stand to attention, am I clear!"

"Y-ye-"

"Do not stammer soldier! Or do I have to yell at you even more!"

"No sir, I-"

"No excuses! If I catch you again, you will be cleaning the barracks with nothing but your own blood, sweat and tears! Are we clear?"

"Yes sir!" Yelled the soldier, eyes wide open and having the clear expression of a man who could only see the living embodiment of fear.

"Keep those eyes normal!"

"Yes sir!" Exclaimed the soldier at last, saluting Ayan without a hint of fear or even expression of emotion in any of his body language for fear of becoming deaf in the next five seconds.

Ayan smirked cruelly, unnerving the soldier, yet she smirked even more to find that the soldier did not falter in fear of her.

"Very good. Dismissed."

The soldier marched off, eyes front, back straight, and she marched back into the room with a smile on her face and sat back down, ignoring the looks of shock coming from the other patrons. With a wave of her hand, consumption of the meals continued, though one eye was kept on her at all times.

Ayan then realised that Edward was staring at her in fear as well.

"Aw, you look pale. Don't worry, that's just an act. If you think that is bad, bear in mind that I am just giving these men the training and diseplence they need to take on Angloterra... our enemies have to put up with a year of this in training. There is a reason why 'survival rate' replaces 'pass rate' over there. Now do eat your breakfast... its figs and honey, a local specialty"

Edward decided that he was glad he never underwent Angloterran training as he took a bite out of the lovely juicy fig, honey sweetening the taste as he swallowed his first bite, immedietly following it with another. It was so simple a dish, but it was a good breakfast. Angloterran training... at least Izumi didn't kill her students (mentally scarred for life nonwithstanding).

"The Angloterran navy is one hundred times worse. Their soldiers, seamen and even their pilots don't fear death, for they have already experienced far worse than-"

"Can we move on! You're scaring everyone here!" Exclaimed Joshua loudly, much to the delight of several people eating breakfast. Ayan apologised and let Joshua continue.

"Oh Edward, Representative Isosceles wishes to meet you. He is certainally very keen, so we'll meet him after breakfast. I think it is about the prisoner, or so he said."

Edward nodded and took a bite out of his second of four figs. They really were delecious, freshly grown here in this unique city so vastly distant from his culture, yet so close to Ishvalian culture.

It was a shame that everybody knew that such a delicacy could not last. Soon, food would be rationed as well, for the Angloterran siege was taking its toll on the walled city.

...

Alexander Fields walked along the road, staring at the crowd that had amassed in the main road that led to the palace. Nearby to this crowd stood large groups of rebel soldiers, uniforms cloaking them admitst the beige houses of this city. Alexander suspected that the soldiers were not entirely happy with what was to occur, and indeed some people in the crowd were chanting against it. However, a much louder group was also in the crowd and was stating its intentions as loudly as possible.

Down with Isosceles, stop our slaughter, peace over death, all these chants came from a group that wanted to avoid conflict. This group was the anti-Isosceles movement, a movement that wanted a new representative and a chance to surrender to the Angloterrans. They were proof that Lancasters tactic of waiting was working as planned. But they were a minority amongst the populace who wanted independance from the Angloterran empire. Still, Alexander mused, they were the enemy. If they were combatants, it was his job as a mercenary currently under the employ of the Angloterran empire to fight back. Still, he had to be careful. While he had been marching around unnoticed thus far, he might still be recognised. And if he was recognised, then he would be shot repeatedly and killed to death, if that made any sense.

As he approached the doorway where his partner stood, arms folded as he leaned against the door, sunlight simply ending to the dark void that lay beyond, he nodded. His partner returned the gesture, then simply looked as Alexander himself leaned against the doorway and took out his pistol, cleaning the gun that had served him well for so many years against many a opponent.

"You know, if they see you cleaning that, they might shoot."

"If they could see you, they would shoot. Honestly, you had the most impractical disguise of all time when you were actually fighting rebels. No, I think we are safe here. Say, why did you wear that stupid disguise? Into battle, no less!"

His comrade sighed, then turned his head to the crowd.

"Long story. The reasons would make you laugh."

"The disguise made me laugh." He responded light heartedly.

A quick chuckle came from his peer, who then turned his head back to Alexander.

"True, guess I cannot argue. What I meant though was that you wouldn't believe me, however."

"What, does it involve God? Or faries?"

"No, I'm an atheist, and faries do not really exist. Its a complex thing really, since it does involve one or two logic failures. Although, my mental condition has been described as unstable, of all things, and maybe even underlying rage issues, so that could explain a lot."

Alexander absorbed this information, but it seemed unwilling to be fully accepted into his mind.

"That does not fit my thoughts about you. However, given that you are a mercenary rather than a investigstor, your chosen profession, given that you are not truly a mercenary... have you even killed?"

"No."

Alexander did not buy that. Then again, he never bought anything. Could there be guilt? Certainly, he was a mercenary, not a investigator, despite his attitide. Although the answer did support what Alexander was going to say.

"So, in anycase, you must be mad. I mean, if you don't kill, why become a mercenary?"

The other man pondered this for a minute, rubbed his chin, where hairs had started to grow despite his care to attention due to the recent activity, then gave a response.

"Okay... I am going to say something incredibly stupid that may result in you shooting me, but the reason why I became a mercenary was the same reason why the investigators were always aware of where you would be and could intercept you back when we were hunting the assassins."

Alexander was still for a moment, looked into the mans eyes, then bought his gun directly into the man's face.

"Gyah!" Yelled the mercenary as he cowered away from the pistol, eyes wide with fear.

"Relax mate. Its unloaded, see? He exclaimed, taking out an empty clip and revealing that there was no bullet in the chamber. However, the other man was still not convinced.

"Do that again, and I might be mentally scared for life." He replied in monotone to his friend.

Alexander smirked.

"Why, never had a gun pointed directly to your face at point blank range?"

The mercenary read over his thoughts, body language expressing this as his eyes went diagonally upwards to his right and a "eeh" noise escaped his lips.

"Lets just say... no. I have had a gun pointed directly in my face. Fired as well, to be precise."

Alexander stared at him with a look of concern. The other mercenary noticed this.

"I wasn't injured. I was extremely lucky."

Alexander was a little confused, and suspected that the man dodged. In anycase, he realised thst dwelling on the distant past was useless, for he himself had been 'extremely lucky' multiple times. He turned back to his fellow mercenary.

"Ah well. Besides, I was doing exactly the same thing, albiet in quite the discrete manor. Great insane, impractical, faliure of pragmatism minds think alike, eh?"

The joke was poor, but it got one chuckle. Exactly one.

"Indeed mate. Although I am not certain of whether I should leave. To be certain, Charles and I are incapable of determining the actual risk to the city. We found no evidence of alchemic activity or any evidence suggesting that the Xersians had any plans to do so. Now, one of the investigators claims that there is something in the palace, not underneath as Julian suspected the trap was, but at the same time I do not believe that that investigator is entirely trustworthy."

Alexander raised an eyebrow at this accusation.

"Not trustworthy?"

"Yes. The chap is Xersian, and is pretty much an anti-Isosceles guy. I saw him talking to one of the people in that crowd over there. You see him? Tall Hassassian skinned fellow with the large beard? Well he seems to be with our investigator. I believe that the palace may hold incriminating evidence, possibly what we need to prove that a dangerous transmutation is in effect."

Alexander nodded, but decided to inquire further.

"So, the gambit pileup gets larger. Say, why does Lancaster allow you and Charles to investigate? I mean, doesn't he know that ypu know that he knows that the investigators know that he can't move in due to the risk of a transmutation, and is thus keeping the siege up to force the town into surrender, thus using everybody for Angloterra's own end?"

"Well I think that he knows that we know that he knows about our arrangement, and that he knows that we know that something is wrong with the trench. He is likely using us to find if there really is a risk. I mean, everybody in the camp is saying that this whole conflict is an excuse to pour soldiers right up to the border of Xing without international outrage. Not like I can do anything about it, other than driving civillians away from the other mercenaries."

Alexander nodded and folded his arms, leaning back like the shorter mercenary. He knew exactly how this man must feel, unable to help others in the long run. Lancaster was one manipulative bastard.

"Excuse me mate... sorry I could not tell you earlier, but Lancaster told me not to. Still, it seems like he expected me to tell you anyway. Basically, the trench was a complete circle when we got here, and there were markings, but the rebels destroyed it when the Angloterran military did not fall for their baiting trap."

The other mercenary fell silent for what seemed like an age, completely contrasting the voices of the crowd gathered around the hastily assembled platform while his eyes widened as if the whole world had struck him hard on the head.

For quite a while, something which worried Alexander, his comradestood still and unmoving, while the world carried on around him. Not even a breath came out of his mouth, which Alexander suspected meant that the information he had given was one hundred percent what the guy was looking for. Finally, he spoke, his voice clear as he gave a quick word of worry to his comrade.

"Is... is everything okay?"

No answer came from the man, his mind working overtime as it digested and diffused the information to the parts of his mind which could function a response. At last, he seemed to fall out of his daze, his eyes still wide.

"Thanks for the information. Yes, we were correct. Chances are that the trench was part of a transmutation circle that may have been designed to kill the Angloterran soldiers if they entered the city, but that doesn't explain what it was, or why they destroyed it. C-can I ask you a favour?"

Alexander contemplated this, although why he was not aware, for he already knew his own answer

"Sure. By all means, ask away,"

"Is it possible that you don't inform Lancaster? If the status quo changes... the next move might not be so predictable."

Alexander laughed.

"You are mistaken. Lancaster would assume the worst and simply order Wellington's artillery battery to absolutely anihilate the city until they surrender, or simply wait out the whole process before making his move to use his current tactic. Don't worry, I shall not inform him of this update."

The other mercenary smiled at him.

"Thank you, Mr. Fields."

"Hey, that is what I'm here for right? I am the unofficial head of you mercs, so if you have any problems, come to me, you hear? I'll do what I can to help. Now you look responsible, but if you are on a mission with me, actually use my offer to assist yourself. After all, we will not always have such an opportunity in the camp, but if you are going to outgambit Lancaster, then you will need friends other than Charles. I can see how good he Is, but two men are not enough. For now, tell Charles, but focus on keeping civillians alive. I can't trust Julian or the Angloterrans enough."

His mercenary friend nodded, and turned his head back to the crowd. For the first time, he noticed the book on the floor beside 'the dragon'. He bent down and looked at the cover.

"Advanced Xerxean alchemy... hey, where did you get this book?"

'The dragon' looked towards him with a brief sideways glance.

"Oh, I got it here."

"Oh, so you mean you stole it?"

"What! I would never do a thing like that to an innocent person just for a quick, mass produced book? No, I borrowed it from the library."

"Y-you mean this library here? In this city?"

"Yes. Where else?"

Alexander had never been so confused in all his life.

"Wait, wait a minute. You, a mercenary fighting the rebels in this city and a official enemy of this city, walked into the library, borrowed a book containing secrets that would be dangerous in Angloterran hands, and left without anybody even batting an eyelid?"

"Yes. Is there anything to this?"

"Well, you know, you... sigh. Talk about refuge in audacity. Still, I do not believe that you should be a mercenary. To be honest, the investigator role at least gives you a bit of anomaly, and is a little bit safer, especially since the rebels are no longer shooting at them. Doesn't stop you from coming into town, anyway, and you get more time to talk to Charles. I am afraid I cannot see what you hope to gain from this."

The mercenary sighed, then gave a honest response.

"I know. You give reasons that I should follow, but... I am not afraid of fighting or my death. I do not fear the rebel soldiers, but I fear that if I leave, it will become harder to keep tabs on other mercenaries coming in, the tactics of the Angloterran military and the current mercenaries. Not to mention that as a mercenary, the investigators have no control over my actions. It is foolish, and not good for my health, but the benefit, even if the drawbacks for me far outweigh the benefit, exists. That is why I act like a complete idiot."

"Yes... quite the self aware, intelligent berk, you are. Brave though. I mean, it is most certain that with an attitude like that, Lancaster will inevitability go against you. Who knows, maybe I will even have to fight you under his orders. I mean, silly rabbit, idealism is for kids! Still, if you are with me today, then we may as well carry out our mission."

"Yes. Something is going on with the crowd, but... did you find out anything about Sing, Alexander?"

"Yes... he is dead. Saw a local notice board stating it. Large bounty in water on our heads, you know. And Rebecca has been captured. Can't remember by whom."

The other man's eyes shot up.

"Really? I wonder how they managed that, given how dangerous ehe is with that knife."

"Yes. It was stated that there would also be a demonstration. Given the armed guards... are they using her to draw us out?"

The two were inturrupted by a man walking on stage, carrying a small box with him. The crowd quietened down as he cleared his throat and began to speak.

"People of Xersia! Today, I bring you living proof of our great victory! As you know, for the past month, as the Angloterrans besiege us, as our food and water supplied thin, as the corpses of our dead start to line the streets, we know that the Angloterrans refuse to come out, refuse to come into our city! They stay outside as cowards, while our galliant defenders, fighting for truth, justice and for freedom from Angloterran oppression, hold off the mightiest army known to man, making sure that the righteous will prevail against tyranny!"

Understandably, loud cheers came from the masses lined up along the street. This man was not trusted, but damn did he give good speeches. It was one of the reasons why he had quite a bit of power.

"Our enemy claims to be moral! To live by a charter that they deny to us and those who wish to follow religion! Their military code of honour has failed here, and now these mercenaries dare to tear into the conflict, denying us the right to live, no longer distinguishing between soldier and civillian, as those shells fired every night do! But it seems, though we might not all believe in him, that God has chosen us! For a man not of here has felled one of the most dangerous mercenaries, delivering her into our custody! And on that same night, our forces have felled another mercenary!"

"God." Said 'the dragon'. "The most effective means throughout history to garnish undue support."

"It takes me all of my will not to shoot this man. Even as a religion hating Angloterran, I find the act of invoking belief in God for one's own purposes disgusting. Religious people may be wrong, but those who use God for themselves are so much worse." Added Alexander.

"And I stand here today, so we can celebrate our victory! Look what our enemy uses to destroy us! Our enemy uses alchemic abominations!"

And with that speech, he opened the box to show something that made the two mercenaries reel back in shock as to what it was.

Inside the box was a piece of large ham.

"Says something about you, Hoplite!" Came a voice from the crowd. To Hoplite's credit, he recovered rather well.

"Heh heh, yes, I suppose I do speak in large ham. Now, can we have the real box, please?"

Someone bought up the real box, and Hoplite opened the box, revealing an armoured head inside which he picked up and displayed to all.

"Behold! The monstrous abominations of alchemy that we draw the line at! This... inhuman thing here in my hands is a murderous being that exists not in the flesh and blood that we do, but in a suit of armour! Nothing more than a abomonation! A freak of alchemy that exists only to kill and slaughter!" But now we can fight back! Look at this freak, and tell me, does it look dangerous now?"

"No" came a mighty chant from the crowd.

"Do you have anything to add to that, Rebecca? No? The silent treatment, huh? Well tell me, people, why does Angloterra use these such evil things against us? Why do they eat happily, while illegal creations of a science they cannot even carry out ravange our town?"

Despite the loud cheers, quite a lot of murmurs of disagreement arose from the crowd. It was painfully obvious that some members of the crowd did not agree that she was a freak, others disagreeing with the idea of what they were doing. Yet none dared speak out, for fear of rejection amongst their more determined peers, supporting the abuse of Rebecca. As the speech continued, the two mercenaries communicated amongst themselves within the darkened doorway.

"This is not a demonstration... this is just prejudice, and verbal torture... those bloody bastards."

Alexander's eyebrows raised at this. It was not often his comrade swore, so it was certain that was a moment of crossing the line for him. He knew exactly why.

"Our objective is to save her, but... too many guards. I'm sorry, but we can't make a move yet. I think the purpose of this is to get us to expose ourselves, and then get us as well, or simply to get our names out of her. This man sickens me. And yet, she must endure this torture. Cells, this is so bloody annoying!" Exclaimed Alexander angrily.

"We rescue her as soon as we get the chance, do we not?"

"Yes. But until then, we can only watch. I hope we can control ourselves like some members of the crowd does. Let us not falter..."

"Now, I ask you, look at this freak!"

"She's not a freak! Came a voice from outside the crowd, and its owner, shocking the crowd, leapt up on stage to comfront Hoplite, who stood surprised at this sudden intrusion.

"Is-is he the guy who beat her?" Said a voice from the crowd.

"Y-yes. But why are saying this?"

"Probably to inform a certain interested party nearby, I presume." Said the first voice in a moment of genre savviness.

The man, a young man, probably no older than seventeen, by Alexander's guess (he was a year wrong) walked up to Hoplite, and stared him coldly in the eye. For the first time, Alexander saw that his partner was lost for words.

"W-w-wh-what!?" He yelled quietly to himself.

"Hoplite! Is this how you treat your prisoners, you sick fuck?"

"What, what are you saying, young man! Please, you know very little about people like her-"

"I know all there is to know about people like her! She is a human who has had her soul ripped from her body and placed inside this armour via her blood seal! But underneath that, she has emotions, thoughts, dreams, and is sentient! No, she Is as human as she gets, even if she is stuck there!" Yelled the blond haired, golden eyed man. But as Hoplite receeded, a voice spoke up.

"Who are you to lecture us, kid? How can you call her human despite the murders of innocent civillians! Tell me, huh kid!"

"It is not what you are that matters, but who you are. She may be a vicious killer that I despise, but that is who she is, what she is is human."

Cheers of approval and jeers of disproval came from the crowd, but all were silenced as the soldiers stood to attention for the next figure to arrive.

"Representative Isosceles!" Exclaimed Hoplite in surprise, saluting the figure.

"Councillor Hoplite, I will no longer permit this torture. Edward Elric, I apologise for my subordinate's behaviour, but he has his ways of getting information. Now Hoplite!"

And as Isosceles said something that both mercenaries could not hear, Alexander turned when his subordinate started to speak.

"Ohhhhh... bugger."

Alexander smirked and gave a chuckle. This man was kind, but now was swearing all over the place. Still, he now knew why the mercenary was troubled. He turned to him and stated something that you probably should have figured out by now several chapters earlier.

"Something bothering you, Alphonse?"

To probably your surprise, this paragraph did not end on that cliffhanger.

"Yes, Alexander. Very much so. But... gah! They're taking Rebecca with her! If they head to the palace, we'll never get her! Talk about bad timing. Still, if brother's there... I feel bad for using him, but let us find the rest of the armour and take it to the camp... brother will do our job for us. This display should drive him to do it anyway, we just need to make his inevitable job easier."

Alexander was quite impressed by his comrade's immediate plan. But then again, it would have to have a huge factor of luck, and trust in idealism over cynicism on the part of the rebels.

Alexander laughed in a evil manor to himself from within his mind, where none could hear. Idealists like himself were so easy to manipulate.

...

To say that the palace was lavishly decorated was quite the statement. The palace most certainly decorated, with quite exquisite artwork from Xerxian, Hassassian, Xersian, Xingese, and even Angloterran art masters wishing to provide this palace with craftsmanship that was envied by many of the town. Admittedly, this created a bit of an economic divide, but the town was a victim of that basis, even after Angloterra took over from Gaulia. But the horrific deductions of water that had led to rationing had hit the palace as well, but Isosceles did not mind rations. After all, he knew that everyone had to give it their all if they wished to stop the Angloterrans, him most certainly included.

However, the palace was not too well decorated as well. The rooms were generally bare, and the recent conflict made this fact even more so. Still, in this room, a couple of elaborately decorated tapestries contrasted the white marble walls, while the relatively new coffee table was surrounded by two couches, one frequented by one fifty five year old man, and the other occupied by a eighteen year old man and a man in his thirties.

Currently, the three figures were drinking Xingese tea, albiet tea which was not a whole cup due to water rations. It was a specialty that Isosceles would not have otherwise provided were it not for the eighteen year old guest.

But there were not three figures conversing. A fourth was in the room, although unnoticable, for It was literally a helmet laid on the coffee table.

"I-I am truly sorry, Mr Elric and Rebecca... I am afraid that while conducting my day to day activities, some things can crop up unexpectably that I despise. If I was aware... I may have had a chance of stopping my subordinate from conducting such an immoral act of what I can only describe as torture on behalf of this city and the rebellion... this is not the path I intended."

The helmet decided to speak, pointing out the inevitable flaws of keeping her here despite what had happened.

"I do not see why your little 'morality' includes helping me despite what I did. Honestly, If I were you, I would carry on torturing until I got what I wanted, then kill me. Why are you so interested anyway, you short horny brat with chronic hero syndrome? Face It, the world is cynical. You should only care for yourself,"

Isosceles, a man respected by all around him for his idealistic approach to life, his rationality, his authority, bravery and kindness, sipped his tea, then proceeded to provide an answer that he had decided would suit the question.

"To answer what you say, I see our rebellion as a idealistic struggle against a cynical empire. True, some things go wrong, such as people such as Hoplite using us to simply advance his own agenda, and people finding blatant racism to answer their troubles, but the idealism remains. Though these people intend to set us down the wrong path, I will not fall to prejudice and selfish ends. If we are to win this war, we need to stay on the path of righteousness, and not fall to the sins that makes a revolution go full circle. If we are to be heroes, then we need to prove to Angloterra and the world that we are above such petty, vulgar things and show that we deserve our independance, our future. And what Bashir did was wrong. He was straying from the path that I have set, and tried to take people into the realm of attrocities and evil action simply for his own gain. But we of Xersia deserve independence, of this I am most certain, but to do so we need to prove that we can be trusted to be a prosporous nation that defies many sins. But to do so would require not torturing. Now Rebecca, I have bought you here today to apologise on behalf of my subordinate and my people."

Isosceles turned to Edward.

"And Edward... I would like to apologise to you as well. What Hoplite did was wrong and amoral, and I am sorry that none came out before you to protest against such abuse. What was done has been done, and I know that no amount of apologies will change that event. But our rebellion, I want you to know, is supposed to be more moral than the Angloterran empire. I would rather surrender to the empire than see this rebellion I started fall into corruption and cruelty. I say long live the rebellion, and as you can see from the mercenaries hired by Angloterra, you see, as civilians became their victims, why I want it to live long, but only if we remain a better choice than the empire."

Edward nodded, but was not wholly convinced.

"If Hoplite is out of line, why not strip him of his title? I mean, there is no reason to keep him if he is, as you said, corrupt."

"It is not my will, but the will of the people. To simply dispose of him would be the beginning of movement to a dictatorship. I want a democratic institute, like how the Emperor of Gaulia is chosen, not the dictatorship that resides in Anglia, where one man, greed above all, resides in complete power of his country, and even the empire. Arthur Cunningham resides as the sole leader, despite the parliament, and sets his country to war. Kind of like what you said Amestris was. But I will not allow myself to fall into the inhuman monstrosity... his character, not the fact that he is a suit of armour... that he is by denying the collective wills of the people of this city. The people believe that he is the best for some reason, possibly his rationality when it comes to military affairs, and I respect their decision and make It official, just as they voted me in and voted for independance, and just as they can vote me out or vote to surrender to Angloterra. I hold one emergency power... to stop this conflict If we stray from our path. And this breach of democracy despises me."

Well, thought Edward, that is a lengthy way of putting it.

"So why do you need us?" Asked the last figure, Joshua. He had not contributed thus far to this conversation, and had only just put in his two pence, so to speak.

Isosceles smiled.

"Edward... Joshua... I know that you are both well rounded men that would never engage in torture, from what I have seen thus far. While Joshua may engage in terrorism, he only targets nearby soldiers classified as combatants anyway. Now, we wanted information from her, and both of you have shown that you will assist the rebellion, either for your own ends or the ends of the innocent people of this city. So I ask you to help save lives by finding out about the mercenaries and the Angloterran plans by asking Rebecca, but in a moral way that does not fall into the realms of morally wrong actions. I authorise you to do anything... but I know that won't work. No, I want you to convince her to stop killing civillians. We-"

Isosceles was cut off by a laugh from the helmet.

"No... no I shall not make my job harder. Killing civillians fulfils my contract and Is easy. Therefore, I shall kill civillians. If you think that I will fall into simple moralities, think again. I killed plenty of times for money. Its how I became a suit of armour. And no, I never paid back my debt to society. I was due to be executed, and although Amestris is a much more moral country, I am still to be killed tomorrow, for I killed again as Inleft the country. My body, at least, will be executed, and I shall die with my mind, not live on like those Angloterran armoured sods. No, I am a murderer, I die tomorrow, and I cannot escape that fate. I always lacked the courage to break my own blood seal, but I got the news before this assignment. Amestris won't kill me now, but they said that my mind will decompose tomorrow, and nothing will be done to save it, not like much can be done anyway, as another punishment. No, if you want details on the mercenaries, you had better give me an incentive to do so. Now, since I die tomorrow, I should reveal that all I wanted was a place where I could be accepted. Angloterra gave me that, so I say "all hail Angloterra!" But the mercenaries? I could care less. The leader is too honourable for his own good, the second in command is a treacherous guy who is up to his own gambit, of which I am not certain. The first two are friends, to an extent, despite both wishing the other was not a mercenary. The third seems to exist purely to kill, and the fourth, Zhang Sing, was an arrogant, incompotent buffoon, and I am glad that he is dead. So... enlighten me. Come on, get me to tell you! Need a clue? Alright... Edward Elric... is that your name?"

"Yes"

"Impressive. Yes, let me ask you, let me have some fun... you are the Fullmetal Alchemist, correct?"

"How the fuck did you guess that?"

"I read news of your retirement. Anyway... I want to know, how can you claim to know me? Tell me how I am, what I feel, and why I will die tomorrow. If you want names and details, you answer my questions. So Edward... explain my past. You know I was a laboratory guard."

"Umm... I suppose you murdered someone, correct?"

"Well done. You guessed the thing that pretty much got me here. Wow, I am so happy, clearly when you actually knew beforehand" came the overly sarcastic response.

"Okay. So I suppose you were caught and 'executed' by transferration of your soul, correct?"

"Ha! Yes, I suppose you know the rest. The only part you don't know was that I was released after the coup, killed again, and fled the country as a mercenary until I found my kind in the Angloterran military. Now then, pipsqueak-"

"I'm not short anymore, you know."

"Well to me, you are. I wish that this armour was Angloterran made... they actually make the armours out of better materials and shape them as well. Only the armet helmets remain a constant design. They're conviniently human sized as well. Anyway, why the hell do you pity me? Go on..."

Edward quickly realised where this conversation was going.

"Sigh... you can't eat or sleep at all. You can't feel as I can feel, you can't drink, you can't function as I function, your movement is impared, and you have to deal with a whole host of psychological issues that arises from your predicament. Oh, and you have to live knowing that you are an empty suit of armour, and those around you may fear what you have become."

Rebecca laughed, and Edward realised all too well what she was trying to do. And with civillian lives on the line, he had no choice but to go along.

"Very, very correct. Although it may interest you to know that having a soul transferred to any artificial being is the most excruciating and painful thing that anyone can undergo, and is traumatic enough to eliminate entire memories from shock alone. I can't even remember who I killed, not to mention that such a transfer also severely damages one's mental and physical condition, and it works in reverse, so insanities are not common, but a given, and anything touching my body feels... disgusting. How does that sound, huh?"

Edward spotted the little challange, and Edward realised that Alphonse had underwent this at least twice, and maybe even more from the continuous and random blackouts. With the mental age of a ten year old, to boot. Suddenly, all the times Alphonse was uncertain of what he was made a little more sense, given that his mental condition would most certainly change. And he remembered that Alphonse had seemed to slip occasionally, and angered a lot more easier then he had then when he was in the armour, and seemed to be stating that he had a subverted phantom limb syndrome... he would sometimes believe that he was in the armour again. Why did he have to suffer so much physically via malnutrition and mentally, while Edward got off with a missing leg easily replaced by automail?

Though he was not religious, Edward was certain that some omnipitent being was determined to fuck up his brother's life. And if he died and met that, he would punch the everloving crap out of it as he had to Father, this time without Greed turning it to charcoal.

Still, his mind wavered back to the topic at hand.

"So... go on... how do you know all this? Trust me, I know, and if I reveal it, I will make the story an awful lot worse. You know, Joshua, you pick bad friends. Try to pick someone who doesn't have such a idiotic life."

Edward realised what she meant. She had him by his bollocks, figuratively, of course. She still had him, though.

Joshua was a little bewildered, while Isosceles seemed to guess what would occur next and only waited for his response to confirm It. Rather worryingly, he seemed to be going one step further.

"Right... you got me. My younger brother was exactly like you, Rebecca. Still, I sacrificed my alchemy to get him his body back."

Rebecca laughed, finally finding what she was looking for.

"Ha ha... your brother is a murderer as well, is he not?"

"What! No! Its my fault that he was like that! And me and him never murdered, ever!"

This actually caught Rebecca off guard. He had just denied her theory. Still, she was intregued.

"So... what did you do? Remember, people's lives are potentially at stake."

And he was cornered, the evidence was in front of him, the jury had decided his position, and the judge his fate. He could only plead guilty. And plead guilty he did.

"I-I commited human transmutaion."

...

Now, under Amestrian circumstances, a large collective response of audiable gasps would fill the room. Instead, Edward got a "huh?" And a look of bewilderment and confusion from Joshua, a evil laugh from Rebecca, and the deductive mind of Isosceles failing to reach a logical conclusion.

"Uh, Edward... care to explain what that is?"

Suddenly Isosceles spoke up.

"You never would have heard of it. Only one copy is here, in my palace, and most certainly not under it. No, nobody ever has, and ever will, open that room. Everyone knows fully well that it is a trap for the greedy. Honestly, there is evidence. All the prophecies say it is a trap.

"Is that suspiciously specific denial?"

"No actually. We found the trap mechanisms and disarmed them. To tell the truth, someone did enter after it was disarmed and found nothing. Its a tourist attraction now. Anyway, human transmutation. Is this illegal in Amestris?"

"Yes" said Edward and Rebecca collectively.

"Oh? Its not illegal here, but the only copy is in the palace. We do not teach it, for we fear that the rearrangement of cells might kill someone. Yes, human transmutation is the rearrangement of cells, and also molecular biology. Nothing too bad, but it is only used for military purposes. And it has never been used yet. Still, why this is a crime, I can understand. It can rearrange a human enough to kill him, and cannot be controlled. Still, I cannot picture why you would do that to your brother, rearrange his body, when you returned it anyway." Replied Isosceles.

Edward realised with fear just how wrong they were. Oh goodness, how more wrong they could be.

Well, they were right, to an extent. Just not as informed.

"Okay... okay... I see you are not as well informed. Now, you might not believe me, but Rebecca might back me up. Basically, it is a alchemic taboo in Amestris. People like me and my brother think, in our childhood naivety, that it can bring back the dead. And no, even with the right ingredients, it can't. It just creates a pile of living organs that lives for three seconds. Its not even the right person, for that matter."

"Well... seems pretty normal to me. Just a failed body." Inputted Joseph.

"Wait, I'm not finished yet. This is where it gets weird. You see, the reaction is not the only one. There is a second reaction that occurs, one which... involves you. What makes this a taboo is that... you pass through the gate... basically all of the alchemic knowledge in the world. You get this knowledge, and you get to learn how to transmute without even using a circle... but you know the law of equivelent exchange?"

"The basis of all alchemy, based upon the conservation of energy."

"Yes, well... the gate does that with various body bits. Its completely random and has no preset conditions. I can also tell you that equivelent exchange is bullshit... I got this knowledge and lost my left leg... fake, see?" Said Edward, exposing his left leg for all to see."

"Automail" said the actually rather observative Rebecca.

"Correct. It's basically mechanical limbs."

Joshua pumped his fist.

"Score one for the world over Angloterran technology!"

"Sorry Joshua. I can safely say that the Angloterran military has significantly better technology from Amestris. Briggs had a secret weapon called a tank, but Angloterra seems to mass produce even better tanks. Anyway, its bullshit because my brother lost his entire body for the same information. I sacrificed my arm to take his soul back."

"Are you sure equivelent exchange is bullshit?" Inquired Joshua. "I mean, for all you know, he could have gotten something even more. Maybe he can do Alkahestry without a circle? I mean, both are involved in Xerxean alchemy."

"You know, I never thought of that. Still, the point remains. The real reaction is knowledge for body parts. That is why it is illegal."

Isosceles was quiet, his head In his hands as he processed the informtion that had just been given to him. Finally, after what seemed an age, he spoke up.

"To be honest, one of the backup plans was to use this circle to destroy the Angloterran soldiers. I did not agree, but the circle outline was created via a trench. However, public opinion found the risk to be greater than the benefits, and so I ordered it to be shut down. I never wanted to have to do it... but now, I think that whoever would have to activate the reaction made a very lucky escape. But enough about the past! In the present, we still need the names of the mercenaries."

And on that quote, Rebecca smiled, or at least thought of doing so. Her opportunity had finally arrived.

"Say... you have done a lot... your utter failiure of logic amuses me, Edward Elric. Now, you know that I will die tomorrow, and I ask, not as a trade, but as a request, to at least return my head to the camp. I have little use with no body. Just throw it from the walls... someone will pick me up, so that I can die amongst those who respect me..."

"Very well." Said Isosceles, before any other could react. "But be warned, if you are tricking us, we may have to kill next time, and it will be easy, now that we know how to defeat you. I do this, although I know it is stupid, because it is the right thing to do."

Rebecca acknowledged this, and then turned to Isosceles.

"Okay, big good, I shall make a trade. I shall inform you who my fellow mercenaries are, on one condition."

"And what is that?" Asked Joshua, finally having some input into the conversation.

For once, Rebecca was glad that she was a suit of armour, for Edward would be unable to notice her glare or her smirk at him. Wow, idealsts were such fool's.

"I hate my fellow mercenaries. Given how Sing died, I would like a shoot on sight policy to be given out. Honestly, it is the best for your town."

"No deal, Rebecca. I will not sign a man's death warrent if another way Is possible."

However, Isosceles was quickly confronted by Joshua.

"Sir, I also oppose, but I fear that without this, we may lose innocent lives. I do not condone this action, but do not condemn it either."

Isosceles turned to Edward.

"Any suggestions?"

"All I have to say is that killing is wrong."

Isosceles came to a brief conclusion.

"So, it is the path of darkness or the path of destruction... but I come to a third option. Rebecca, would you be willing to allow "do not approach, contact a rebel officer immediately?"

"Would that kill them?"

"Only if they resist, much like our current orders."

Rebecca did not like this circumstance, but realised that tonight would be a long night if she did not accept some form of deal.

"Very well" she said. "I accept your deal. Now then, do you have my knife with me?"

Joshua nodded.

"It is at the police station."

"Good. In the handle, just fimble around a bit, is the names and details of all of the mercenaries. That contains your details."

"Then it is settled. I hope that my annoying comrades are finished off soon. I cannot bear them." Concluded Isosceles, glad that no more torture would arise, and they had obtained what they wanted.

But she was laughing inside. How easy it was to fool idealists. The rebels had helped her, the mercenaries would help her, and a lot more fights would arise. And then she could claim a healthy profit from all the killing, claiming kills by her soon to be deceased peers as her own. She thought to herself how much of a manipulative bitch she was.


	8. Chapter 7: To bypass moral constraints

Yes. That chapter was too idealistic. Time to promote a cynical view on life and have some royal screw ups for people. Well, humour has reduced significantly... and a couple of gambits had better come into play. Time to move on.

...

"Come on guv'nah, I'll get up earlier next time, I promise!"

"Cut your whining, soldier, or I'll use you as bait to draw out the rebels."

The soldier, who had been caught, rather unfortunately for him, sleeping in was currently having the lashes. Basically, his own comrades were holding him down while another soldier repeatedly clubbed him with the end of his rifle. This was a slightly alternate version of the whips the navy used, but Lancaster would put his life on the fact that it was very good for diseplence. There was a reason as to why the Angloterran schools had caning; something which many countries thought was immoral.

But the beating the man was having was nothing compared to the beatings that he would have undergone through training. And for the year, the special forces, training for up to three years, would basically be tortured for a week, sometimes resulting in loss of limbs, if said limb was completely unnecessary. There was a reason why the average Angloterran soldier was more than a match for even the best alchemists and martial artists.

However, how a plucky eighteen year old beat up several soldiers, Lancaster would never know, despite the dragon's insistence that the guy had a mechanical leg (which he doubted) and also underwent training from hell.

Now, currently, Lancaster was bored. Sure, one mercenary was dead and one a disembodied head, the other mercenaries carrying the body back over their shoulders (bits of it. They weren't bodybuilders, and they could not carry round a whole suit of armour. In the end, both men came back wearing bits of it), but that did little to ease the boredom. Understandably, Lancaster wanted to commit a few atrocities to spice things up. But, alas, there were no prisoners bar a mother and her child who had attempted to leave the city. Oh well, he could torture them later. For now, several situations had arisen that required his attention.

Currently, as evening overtook the camp, the fires were on and the chaos of speech had arisen. The most common speech was science, something that Angloterra hwld in wide regard, and the current speech was to do with nuclear reactions, a relatively new study. Specifically, the energy released from nuclear fusion, theorised to be the cause of the energy emitted from the sun that had receded behind the hills due to the rotation of the Earth. Even the most uneducated Angloterran was supposed to know that. In fact, even the most uneducated Angloterran was pretty sufficient in Biology, Chemistry and Physics, and some in medicine.

But, alas, the scientific knowledge that Angloterra held, which actually exceeded even knowledge of 1935, and far exceeded the knowledge worldwide as of this date, 1917, held a very, very dark secret.

The majority of new antibiotics, advances in biology, chemistry found in the body, although not part of it, and usually Biochemistry, and more recently Alchemy in institutes outside the Terran continent, was carried out on religious extremists, often much worse than Angloterra itself, and revolutionary prisoners. Such prisoners were often taken to one of fifty empirewide institutes which specialised in a paticular field of science, with more to be announced and opened up, and would be subjected to a torture that put Amestris to shame.

While a phillosophers stone had never been created, constant attempts at blood seals that worked for the so called "manipulative conciousness", and the attempts to catalyse these processes so that the energy used was less of a drawback, was definitely carried out at a much larger rate.

Not to mention that, for those who could do Alchemy, based outside of the Terran continent, attempts at Chimeras were made. Two points were important here. One, human Chimeras included, and two, attempts were exactly that. At least one unconfirmed report of human Transmutation existed, to make it even worse. And that was just the rare cases of alchemy.

This was the price of religion in Angloterra. And the researchers who carried out these despicable acts did so often in the claim "for science!" Despite significant backlash amongst the scientific community, and rather recently even other Angloterrans were getting pissed off at the atrocities going on behind these doors, viewing the genocide as unnecessary, but their pleas fell on deaf ears.

Angloterra did nothing, for they found this to be productive. There was a reason religion was so heavily clamped down on religion, and Angloterra used this, regression of science, and 'fixed the problem'.

But that did little to bother Lancaster. As far as he was aware, those religious twats deserved it.

"Anything new on Biology and Biochemistry?"

"You know that DNA thing people are trying to prove? Well, apparantly, someone said that a complete chemical model could be completed as early as 1952, given our current progress."

Lancaster sat down in his tent and began digging into his dinner, a very basic pie, failing to consider a thought for his suit of armour (admittedly modernised with new materials and structure, as was the norm) subordinate, Jones.

"Jones." said the Lt. Colonel with his mouth full, a social disaster that he had never bothered to overcome. "What's the news on Xing?"

"Couple of the northern clans are trying to get the Emperor to sign the treaty, since they are at risk, but the Emperor won't sign. A small civil war is happening up north as well due to our presence, one clan wants to join us if we give it power over the rival clans, and the clans are trying to fund terrorism in our country, but we keep stopping them. Also, a wee bit of gambit pileup is occuring there for the throne."

The Emperor was currently old and about to pass away, although in actual fact he had done so long ago, his clan pretending as such to stay in power, and just about every clan wanted that throne for themselves. Apparantly, while there has been a sore lack of magnificent bastards in this story, i.e. none, unless TV tropes says there is, one had popped up in Xing, with a masterful five way I win gambit.

It involved a trade alliance, and this alliance could be broken down on a whim by him, causing enough chaos for his clan to restore order... of course, he would need an Emperor's incentive to do so.

Or, he could pick on rival clans and Isolate them, taking them out of the equation and causing an economic collapse.

One of his gambits involved the civil war in the north, and he had even produced a gambit should Angloterra invade that would make him even more powerful.

If he just waited, he would soon become economically powerful enough to bribe his way to victory.

However, he had about twelve gambits in place for one chap who claimed to have "the source of ultimate power" from Amestris. Needless to say, Angloterra was very interested in this.

To sum it up, because of the clan system, Xing was one massive gambit pileup. Every gambit had two counter gambits, and five backup plans themselves countered by ten new plans. Of course, in the end, the smartest clan, richest clan, or most powerful clan won this political struggle.

And so, the war for the throne continued, while Angloterra simply sat back, and made its own gambits as the country tore itself apart. It was highly likely that if this continued, Angloterra would have a shiny new colony.

But Lancaster simply leaned back and thought of dogs. Dogs were not boring.

To tell the truth, as he finished his dinner, he was really pissed off, as opposed to the drunk soldier outside the tent, who was just pissed.

"Can't be arsed for this shite... stupid bitch just had to give something away."

Currently, as he mumbled to himself, it seemed that something was wrong. Rebecca seemed too... smug. He suspected that she sold out her fellow mercenaries, something to which Lancaster did not give a shit. He had to dispose of Julian at some point, and maybe Alphonse as well. But, he had to find out if she sold out any soldier positions which could result in a little trouble regarding the little revolution. This rebellion, revolution, whatever one called it, was sapping his patience. If she sold some of his men out... her blood seal would be removed.

"Sir... are you going to interrogate those prisoners?"

The man sighed, his mind thinking what to do. Normally, he was borderline psycotic, but calm enough to keep a calm and leveled head, but his men were dying (in admittedly low numbers. The Angloterran military was an army of elite mooks), and it was too hot to think clearly. He highly doubted that he could keep a stable head. He was going to bring out his rage on someone, that was for sure.

"Sigh... Fuck it! I'll get that bloody info if we so fucking badly need it!"

He stormed out of the tent, leaving his finished plate behind for Jones to pick up, and marched into the tent. where the two were being held. The two prisoners were a mother and a child who had been caught trying to leave the city, having already left it and come out of the sewers, but they were caught and taken to the main camp. Lancaster was stopped by the guard at the tent flap".

"Sir... if you are going to... can we move them away from camp first? Can't have anyone hearing."

"Sigh... fine, fucking move them Into the desert, send back the vehicle for me."

The soldier saluted, then marched back into the tent. Lancaster exhaled, then turned round and decided to deal with Rebecca. As he passed the fire, he saw three figures conversing around a fire. He quickly identified the three figures as Charles, Alphonse and Alexander. Damn, it was like a little "save the civillians" conspiracy. He guessed that Charles must have introduced himself to Alexander... everybody got along too well. Lancaster was bored by this arrangement. He hoped that one of them would hurry up and be killed for knowing too much. That would spice things up, especially since the backup army was now heading south to the Xing border. It would give him an excuse to kill some people.

"So, why do you wear that armour? I mean, it is wholly impractical, old, hot, reduces your movement, makes it hard to sneak, you said you had to shrink it and lob bits off so that you could wear it, specifically the breastplate, as you said, and it just looks so stupid to be walking around in a suit of armour when you are not actually it." Said Alexander, AKA the big bad. At least, by the standards of the five bad band, even though these two were definitely not "bad" in any way.

"Look, Alexander, I told you, I was this suit of armour once. Blimey, even Rebecca guessed straight away. Look, I'll show you." Replied the second figure, picking up the back piece that he was cleaning and showing the mercenary something. "That's the blood seal. Cracked now, to add."

"Yes, yes, I know. But you have no reason to keep wearing it. If you want to disguise yourself, use a baraclava or just simply a scarf. No need to wear such an inconspicuous suit of impracticality. Also, if I was a previous suit of armour, I would want to keep as far away from it as possible."

"You are correct, but... I guess I get attached to things to easily. Nearly turned this thing to automail parts, you know. And that is not mentioning cats. I love the things, though they always seem to be stray cats in alleyways hiding from the rain. Quite a shame. Anyway, yes, I will agree with you that no rational, or insane person, for that matter, would wear a suit of armour into battle in this day and age, but apparantly it helps load my muscles. Sure, it hurts like someone just placed you in a suit of armour, and yes, I can barely move sometimes, but I have had some unwanted experience with the armour and pretty much know how to use it to it's full effect. Put simply, it is capable of deflecting a few bullets, and, to a much more efficient extent, rebels here mistake me for a empty suit of armour and try to handle me in close quarters, where I have the advantage. Yes, I will agree, it is wholly and utterly impractical, but there are benefits that actually suit my malnutrated form. After all, I cannot tour the world with a bullet through my head, am I right? Besides, its a Xerxean suit of armour and brother said it was cool. I disagree, it actually scared the life out of me as a child, but he is the same chap who likes Gothic architecture."

"You mean from Gothia?"

"Y-ah. You got me there."

A chuckle came from the other two men, and the hideously under developed character (although still more than Julian) known as Charles spoke up.

"Then why the spikes? I mean, they only serve to make you look evil, and are the absolute definition of scary impractical spikes of villany."

Alphonse clapped his hands and, much to Lancaster's surprise, transmuted away the spikes without even using a tranamutation circle. And any knowledge he had of Alchemy just went flying out of the window.

Physics and Chemistry soon followed when the spike immediately grew back without any reason to do so.

"And once again, science has failed." Deadpanned Charles. Honestly, Biology would be next, as the nearby bug suddenly evolved instantly into a bird despite breaking the simple governing actions of biology and ignoring the fact that evolution is, in a simple explanation, a gradual process over potentially millions of years. Two seconds later, faith healing actually worked regardless of the placebo effect, and a young shepherd actually spoke to God.

Then science came back and undid the previous paragraph, despite that also breaking the laws of science by changing the past. The universe then imploded for an utterly inexplicable reason, although it is likely related to the breakdown of all science and logic, and rebuilt itself just after Charles had finished his line.

"Anyway Alphonse, you are a bad liar. Something's wrong, I can tell." Continued Charles.

"Oh, don't worry about me, I'm fine." Replied Alphonse as he coughed up blood. "Well, apart from all the malnutrition, the biological, medical and not even possible failiures regarding my body, my significantly increased chance of organ failures, my Ulcers, poor but necessary diet, and my traumatised and mentally unstable condition, including the chronic hero syndrome that got me involved in this blasted conflict which I apparantly got from being turned into the suit of armour, and my extraordinarily bad luck, I am alright. Yes, I am quite aware that the list is very long."

Alexander had taken in all this information and quickly, although he was not a Doctor, gave Alphonse an estimate of one month to live. What a poor sod.

But Charles was not convinced.

"You mentioned a phantom limb condition?"

"Well, more of a phantom lack-of-limb condition. I keep thinking that I am a suit of armour again when I sleep. Can't even get to sleep enough."

"Wow, the author must really have it out for you" said Alexander to Alphonse.

"Only I'm allowed to break the fourth wall!" Replied Lancaster.

"Okay. Now Alphonse... have you heard of the term 'reversible reaction?'"

"Yes, I have. I learned it for the chemical composition of materials and chemical reactions so that I could apply my Alchemic knowledge to it."

"Well, not surprising, since Alchemy is considered a subset of Chemistry. Basically, I think that, given that you have also shown symptons of what the books say is 'a soul being ripped from the body', that you, my friend, are involved in a reversible reaction regarding your soul and that armour. I mean, since the iron in the blood fused slightly and took your soul with it, it is likely that your soul is attempting to return to it's container. Congragulations, your soul does not even like your own body." Continued Charles in a very matter of fact tone.

"That's impossible. Alchemy does not work that way."

"Well, given the fact that the spike grew back, I honestly am willing to believe anything right now." Added Alexander.

"So... assuming this is correct, will I simply keep transferring until I finally die? Based upon your theory, of course."

"Well... I suppose when your consciousness is elsewhere, I.E asleep, your body will be incapable of holding on to your soul and you wind up back in the suit of armour until your internal clock kicks in and you transfer and wake up. And it is this you are experiencing, and you keep the armour to see if this occurs when you are unconscious, or you are scared that something bad will happen and you will be stuck every night, and take the armour as insurance that you will be fine."

Alphonse considered this information, evaluated it, and came to a conclusion.

"Sorry, I cannot believe you. I mean, if this were the case, it would have happened in the past, and have been recorded."

"Well, you are doomed. There are no reported cases we know of of someone even getting their body back, and the way the author is messing around with you, it is likely, and bear in mind that this is a potential scenario, that your body rejects your soul and your lovely body explodes into ludicrous gibs like the blood seals explode, then your blood seal explodes after the armour rejects you, and you remain a screaming disembodied soul feeling the constant insufferable pain of a soul transfer for all eternity while still being conscious and fully aware of your predicament but unable to do anything about it. I would give this about a fifty percent probability. Err... are you feeling alright, you've gone all pale."

Lancaster chuckled as the woobie just sat there disillusioned from the current world and thought about the story. So far, the humour was... in your face. Stupid. Unrealistic. Blimey, even the universe had imploded. However, wit was true humour, and the author vowed to never again use in your face humour and focus solely on wit, then realised that he had basically just done exactly the former in this sentence. So much for British wit.

Lancaster considered sarcasm, claimed to be the highest form of wit, and realised that he was just another deadpan snarker as he snuck past the unlucky trio and entered the nearest open tent to discuss the problems of his predicament with Rebecca.

Now, to his surprise, Rebecca was actually still just a disembodied head, courtesy of the trio, who had left her like this "unless she stopped killing civillians." Lancaster decided to speak up.

"Rebecca. As you can see, whether you want to or not, I am here, and currently very angry. Now hurry up and explain to me if you disclosed Angloterran military secrets to the rebels."

"I did not."

"And you suppose I was to expect you to answer otherwise? Look, I'll be very blunt here. We lost our map of the sewers, and we lost a document stating our current procedure here, waiting for the rebellion to fall apart. Finally, we lost the Amestrian Alchemist from institute 46's document on Alchemy that might be capable on destroying our army. Now, do you, or do you not, have these documents with you?"

"And please explain how you expect a me to steal documents given my predicament."

"Stop your rather blatant snarking and tell me if you stole them beforehand or if you had nothing to do with it."

"No. I gave information on the other mercs, but honestly that can be seen as advantageous to you."

Lancaster did not even ponder this piece of data. He would have had to dispose of Julian at some point, and he could care less if Alexander and Alphonse died. One was a traitor avoiding combat, while the other was one of his men from the past who was likely to get killed anyway. No, his worry was if Rebecca had the information that had been lost... no, stolen was by far tge better choice of words.

"Look Rebecca." He said, lifting her visor and drawing his pistol, levelling it at her blood seal with all intent of shooting it directly to remove her from her existance.

"Now, you may have lied about being executed tomorrow, but I swear by my blood cells, if you do not tell me what actually occured, I will shoot the blood seal off and execute you today, right here, right now. So I ask again, where are my bloody documents!"

The last sentance came to a mighty roar at the word "bloody", and as a result came out more as an order than a question. However, unfortunately for the lieutenant colonel, his actions did little to scare Rebecca. You see, like Alphonse, she had had a gun stuck to her head before, as a result of being a prisoner in her case, but unlike Alphonse, the gun had not blown her head clean off her body. Still, she was a bit of a sociopath, and did not even bat a metaphorical eyelid.

Instead, she simply replied, calmly as if she was in a formal conversation, that she had an alias for the time period when it was missing.

Lancaster pushed the gun ever closer to her blood seal until the barrel was practically one atom away from colliding with it.

"Then you better have a bloody good alias, or my next action shall be rather predictable."

Rebecca explained her Alias, specifically how she was not actually around his tent at the time when the evidence was believed to have been stolen, and was instead in the beer tent talking to Angloterran soldiers. Sadly for Lancaster, he spent the better portion of ten minutes finding somebody to back her up, but ultimately could not find any evidence suggesting that she did steal the documents, and at least two soldiers nacked up her story. So he reluctantly let her go, disappointed that he had once again more bloody detective work to do. Sighing, he went past the annoying trio again, nowva duo, since the now pake man wad gone, vomiting up blood.

"I tell you, why the bloody hell does this guy swear? I mean, he doesn't seem the type to swear!"

"Alexander, he is seventeen. I would be surprised if he didn't swear. Besides, there is a bit of a weird factor surrounding those who don't... it's hard to explain. Basically, by swearing around those who swear a lot, he fits in. Even though I think he genrally despises wordes such as 'bugger', he will use them in extreme circumstances. And in this conflict, he is pretty much a paragon, so he needs a little problem. And here, in this conflict, bugger describes everyone best. By the way, has he either killed or gotten into fights with the rebels?"

"Umm... no. He tries to avoid fighting rebels, and the more I go on, the more I believe that his hands are not stained with blood. But trust me, one day, he will have to stain them, possibly since the lives of innocents will be on that moral line. Nobody should be so naive to tbink that they can get through life without ending the life of another homo sapien. Life is just cruel that way."

Charles secretely disagreed, but kept his opinions to himself. He did not notice Lancaster step into the light utility vehicle behind him, but he heard the roar of a petrol engine igniting a vapour of air and petrol in a spark plug, the low octane of the fuel resulting in a knocking effect as it pulled out from the camp to drive Lancaster to where the two prisoners had been taken, far out into the desert.

Why this was happening, none of the mercenaries knew. But as the LUV pulled up alongside another in the desert, where Angloterran soldiers held the two prisoners, a mother and her child, with their hands bound behind their back, a simple but brutal action would be carried out.

Now, Lancaster was a complete and utter sociopath, but he was pragmatic in a sense. He genrally found torture to be a waste of time, and acknowledged the fact that it was not a very good thing to have as a public image for the empire. However, he also found some use for it, when It was quick and brutal and away from prying eyes, and so that Is why he is currently in this remote part of the desert, waiting for an excuse to simply begin a war with another nation soon.

Honestly, Cunningham had a plan for all circumstances regarding the city. Even If the revolution won and defeated his army, Cunningham would just simply use that as an excuse to show off the air force, primarily Gothian, and in paticular the bombers, as they destroyed the city while being unreachable.

As he glanced at the soldiers and tried to recognise some of them, he recognised lieutenant John Manderson standing to the side. He never did get that report from him, that much was certain.

"Now then, madam." He quickly stated to the woman, who looked up at him in fear. "I am currently very pissed off right now, I'm tired, and I haven't had any sleep lately. So basically, I am cranky and really on the edge of my temper right now. You are going to tell me how in anatomy's name you got out of that city! And if you don't, I'll kill you instead."

The woman stared into his eyes with both fear, but to his surprise, hate as well. How she managed that with just a facial expression, he had no interest in learning. He just wanted information.

"Mummy," said the child, currently scared as to his situation, but too young to realise just how bad it would soon be. "Are they going to hurt you?"

"Yes I will, kid, and if you don't shut up I'll rip your bloody tongue out and shove It up your ugly arse, you stupid wanker!" Yelled Lancaster directly into the little child's face, causing him to pull his head back in fear.

"Oh, you're going to pull away, huh? Man up you tosser!" He yelled, jerking on the little childs hair and pulling the boy right up to his face, causing a bit of unease to occur in a couple of new recruits in this area.

"Look, please, let my son go. He can't do you any harm!"

"No. Why the fuck would I do that? Let him go, sheesh, you are one stupid bitch. No, I will not let him fucking go. Now tell me how the bloody hell you got out!"

The woman stared at him with a face that he knew all too well. Fear, but not entirely. She was holding information back, that much was certain.

"Please, I don't-"

"Of course you bloody well know! I don't have time for this shite!"

And with that, he drew his pistol and shot the boy in the leg.

The boy was no older than nine, but he had lived a relatively sheltered life until the siege began. And when he was shot, he quickly screamed in pain that he had never before experienced as the bullet carved its way througn his flesh and lodged there. But Lancaster knew those screams, and had heard screams far too often. By now, quite a few soldiers were worried. But Lancaster, even If he beat his own men for violations such as sleeping in and executed them for puns, cared deeply for his men, and he genuinely meant well for them. That was why he did such inhumane acts of torture.

"Wait, why-"

"The lives of my men are worth more than your pathetic excuse for a son." Said Lancaster, cutting off the woman with a quick speech and levelled his gun to the boy's terrified head, which now fully understood the situation he was in. "Talk, or the next shot will kill him."

This was Lancaster's form of torture; one warning shot to the body, and quickly threatening deatb with full intent to shoot the prisoner. The impact it had, especially on loved ones, was immediate and very effective. This unlucky mother was no exception.

"It was a group of rebels! They let us try to leave, and they are bringing in supplies to the city from outside!"

This was an unexpected turn of events. This meant that somebody was supplying the rebels, and that another escape route was open; something that the Angloterran military was thought to have all but eliminated such a chance of happening.

"What kind of supplies?"

"Food, medicine, water and firearms."

The answer was said incredibly quickly, for the woman spoke in fear for her son's life, who seemed to have finally shut the hell up.

"Say it again, but slower."

The woman took a deep breath, then continued to respond to his demand.

"Food, medicine, water and firearms."

Lancaster raised both his eyebrows at this information. No wonder the city had lasted a month under these conditions. So the rebels had an outside source. This would have to be reprimended, and fast. He had just one more question.

"And how are they getting this into the city?"

"There's a secret tunnel that goes under the sand dunes behind the city. If you let us go... I can show you the entrance." She said, finding a hope spot amidst the horror of this situation. After all, Lancaster had no way of knowing where it was.

However, Lancaster had other ideas. He quickly fired his pistol, sending a bullet that ended the boy's life by entering his head and not only destroying the brain but also killing him from the shock of the bullet hitting the brain, crushing all hopes and aspirations the boy had in a single shot which took all of the years of his life his body had left. Before she could react, the mother met the same end.

Lancaster had executed them because they knew of his torture, and that evidence needed to be disposed of, and because he had all the information he needed. He despised torture, not for it's moral backlash but because in many circumstances it was simply impractical. However, if he had to get information via torture, he would simply carry out the action quickly, brutally and away from prying eyes, preying on those likely to give up in just a few seconds, and dispose of them when done to avoid unnecessary consequences. Sure, it was immoral, but this action kept his men alive and would benefit everybody in the long run, especially the inhabitants of the city. This explained Angloterran actions in a nutshell, even if it was breaking the code that governed their lives.

By now, all of the soldiers were at least a little bit shocked bar Manderson, who had seen it all before. Lancaster turned to Manderson, who saluted.

"Orders, sir?"

"Take some scouts and carry out a reconnosense mission behind the sand dunes. Find the entrance by waiting for the rebels to make a move, then send some scouts to follow any rebel force leaving to pick up supplies. Use a LUV if you have to. Find the place they are getting supplies from, then take... say, forty men. Take major Halifax's regiment, then take a couple of troop transports. Oh, and ask the ninth armoured division round here for Cromwell, Churchill and Sherman, and their tank. Those men should be sufficient. If the recon team says that more men are needed to take the supply base, then you are welcome to have them. Oh, and destroy the enterance to the tunnel, but do not enter it. I want that supply base gone, wherever the hell it is. Dismissed.

...

"I assume you have heard of the very basic principles of Alkahestry?"

"Yes, I have heard of them, how the lifeforce of the earth Is what governs the nature of Alkahestry."

"Yes, that is correct, but please be aware that it is not entirely scientifically explanable, but it is actually believed to be manipulation of biological chemistry, while the alchemy you have studied is the chemical composition of matter that is not biological. Actually, it was the Angloterrans who suggested this, despite their inability to preform Alchemy without artificial stimuli. I believe that It is, to an extent, to do with their lack of souls. Normal blood seals will not work for them; they need one that symbolises conciousness."

The man that Edward was currently with was an alchemist who was teaching Edward all about Xerxean alchemy. While the Xerxean culture died with Hohenheim, a little bit of alchemy remained with the city of Xersia. While nobody here claimed to be Xerxean, leaving Hohenheim the last of his kind, the alchemy that the culture had had for so long moved forward intact into Xersia, while it had become subjecated in both Amestris and Xing to other forms, although these subversions now had alchemy that Xerxes never had.

Truth be told, Edward did not need to be taught alchemy, of which he was a non functional master, but he did need to learn about how Xerxean alchemy, which admittedly had advanced to become Xersian alchemy, worked, and he wanted to witness transmutations that would not be avaliable in Amestris. So, to that end, the local friendly neighborhood terrorist, Joshua, had gotten him in touch with a acquaintance of his, a young Alchemist, maybe about the age of twenty three, called Perseus Hassan, a young Hassassian skinned, Hassassian eyed fellow who was quite skilled in Xersian alchemy. Edward had come to see these rare sights that an Amestrian could only dream of.

"Now, before we begin, bear in mind that equivelent exchange still applies. Now, the function is much the same; geothermal energy provides energy for the reaction to take place, the process and reaction can be manipuated via the transmutation circle, and symbols can be used to provide specific guidences. Now, there is a spiritual effect, mostly to do with the presense of a soul. The soul acts as the alchemic part of you, and it guides the transmutation to your intended effect, which has since become the concept of Chi in Xing, when science cannot explain it. Now, to be exact, we only really have medical alchemy that Amestris does not have to the same extent. We can, however, do something that is lost to alchemy worldwide."

the young man placed his hands on the transmutation circle, and did a reaction that actually caught Edward off guard.

A simple fluid formed out of thin air, having not come from anywhere, as if it had overcome the very law of equivelent exchange, something which should not have occured at this level of alchemy.

"Do not be too impressed. This is simply one of the most basic reactions that has been lost to cultures. You know the four elements they teach you at childhood?"

"Yes, Hydrogen, Oxy-"

"Woah there. I mean in Alchemy, in regards to Earth, Fire, Air and Water. Now, admittedly, that is wrong. Elements are like you were stating, or as the Angloterrans say, depending on the composition of the atomic structure, or to be blunt the protons, neutrons and electrons, and the ions, differing charge due to gqin or loss of electrons, and isotopes, due to differing mass, that Angloterrans use so often."

"To be honest, I rather specialised in Alchemy. My brother was a bit more rounded, but once again he specialised on alchemy. I can understand Chemistry, and I understand what you said about atoms, and have passing knowledges of Biology and Physics, but they pale in comparison to what I put into Alchemy."

"Ah, so you overspecialised while your brother did not do so to the same extent. Don't worry, you are at the prime learning level, I say. Pick up a couple of books and expand your knowledge, my friend. Alchemy needs a lot of knowledge in all three sciences, but it does not delve into all aspects of science. Still, let us return to the topic at hand. As you saw, the liquid came out of thin air. That is exactly the case. You see, the reaction I did was not just to do with rearranging molecules. Basically, I converted one of the 'elements' into another; I converted air into water. Or, simply put, I broke apart several Carbon Dioxide and Water molecules and created an alcohol, Oxygen and several unintended byproducts, such as Carbon monoxide. Then, it was a simple matter of increasing the strength of the intermolecular bonds by using hydrogen bonding between an electronegative oxygen and a electropositive hydrogen in the OH dipoles to bring the molecule together to an extent where it could take a liquid form. It is an incredibly simple transmutation, but it is the intermolecular bonding, signified by the chain wrapping in this circle here, which holds the secret to converting one element to another. Anything to any other element Is a bit complex, but while Angloterra uses temperature and reversible reactions made so that the position of equilibrium is closer to the products, we use alchemy to simply rearrange the molecules as we need to. Now, this is not lost to the world; there are reports of flame alchemy, but it is not common knowledge as it is here."

Edward watched the alcohol as it spread out amongst the transmutation circle, washing some of the chalk away. It was true; such a simple reaction here was unheard of in Amestris, maybe morally bankrupt Mustang's flame alchemy aside. But still, it remained a mystery to so both Amestris and Xing, lost to the world. Instead, reactions occured related more to Angloterran science than to Xersian science. It was based upon childish principles, which only serve as a simplistic introduction to Alchemy, but it held the potential for alchemy that had been so rare in Amestris for far too long.

The next few hours were quite basic. Hassan was not a sociable chap, but he was keen to show off what he could do that an Amestrian could not. Edward suspected a little pride and arrogance (something all to familiar a concept to Edward), but he seemed genuinely interested in teaching it, even if Edward would never be able to use it. He also had a really good understanding of both Alchemy and non alchemic scientific reasoning to back it up, often garnished from Angloterran books. If he were in the field of another science doable in Angloterra, he would have a PHD by now. But he used Alchemy, a very 'learn it yourself' based science here in Xersia, so he took the local role that had for so long been used here in Xersia. But Edward wanted to know more about it, so he pressed on, eager to learn about Xersia as he was shown unique alchemy, such as transferring only part way through materials to not only just decompose, but also to produce structures that stopped in areas of all three parts of Alchemy, which created an interesting scenario where the structure was far more complex than those in Amestris, due to not even evidence of transmulation when an object was stretched out by rearranging the final product, even by decomposition if necessary, to produce quite the exquisite piece. But as he carried on, he learned how it affected biological chemistry, which was covered by the field of Biochemistry in Angloterra sans alchemy, and how the cells could be forced to replicate in an instant to heal a wound. This was suspected by Hassan to be related to DNA replication that Angloterrans loved so much. He learned how the alchemy used symbols to an even greater extent than Amestrian alchemy, and how these symbols guided the alchemy to even greater products, for even the most complex reaction that required a chain reaction of transmutations in Amestris was achieved by just one Xersian transmutation.

Clearly, the world had a lot of carching up to do regarding Alchemy. The transmutations occuring here, in front of Edward's very own eyes, was lost to the world, and reactions that were impossible to carry out in Amestris or were outright catylised by the alchemy here when a chain of transmutation circles would be needed had arisen to take Edward by storm. The Xersian alchemy, a direct continuation of Xerxean alchemy that his father, Hohenheim, had mastered, carried on in this society, where Information lost to Amestris and Xing had not been lost, but the impeding march towards progress from science and links to science from Angloterra had outright continued. And this alchemy had remained under the radar for so long, known only to the people here and the Angloterran Empire, of which only a select few individuals could actively cause a transmutation. And it would be his knowledge to know, and to share, as he took down notes on the alchemy and listened intently for information that might one day allow him to reuse his Alchemy.

Edward Elric loved Alchemy, but one can only teach for so long. And so, as night befell the city as it had the camp, the tutorial wrapped up, Edward having expended a bit of his already shortened lifespan for knowledge that very few, if indeed no, Amesteian induviduals held.

The absolutely best thing was that all of these wonderful transmutations were very closely linked to Alchemy. It would not take much to integrate this knowledge into Amestrian alchemy. The Elrics were giving something back more than the value they took.

Once again, the Elrics screwed over the rules of equivelent exchange in their journeys. Honestly, they would have to get something back one day.

Edward decided that he would give back to the world by creating new ways of alchemy by combining recently discovered Amestrian alchemy with that of the complete library of Xerxean and Xersian alchemy.

Now, Edward pondered why he was chosen for all of these good things. He realised that he managed to fit in quite well with the locals, or at least compared to other foriegners. Still, that was almost certainly due to, apart from his actions, his golden eyes and golden hair that marked him genetically In terms of phenotype as a descendent of Xerxes, despite the disappearance of the entire culture of people due to that damning phillosophers stone. Such a culture destroyed by bloodshed and the greed of a elite few, damning the rest of the people to spend four hundred years as a tortured, still conscious soul screaming from the unimaginable pain of not having a host body, but instead being in a container.

Edward knew that Amestris had nearly disappeared down that path as well. If Father, as Alphonse had once suggested, lied about the date of the promised day by manipulating astronomical measurements, then everyone might either act to late, or he could have drawn out all the potential threats into acting too early, simply deal with all of them, including counter transmutation circles like Hohenheim's, and end any attempted coup and carry out the plan at a later date when he was at an advantage. A lot of luck had been involved on that promised day, although Edward now understood the motives of one random alchemist who had tried to kill him because he was a human sacrifice. He must have found out as well, and found murdering the confirmed human sacrifices to be the best solution.

But that was what Edward wanted behind him. He was no longer the Fullmetal alchemist, a situation he was pleased about, and he had to look into the futire as his notebook was filled up with all kinds of information on the alchemy here in Xersia.

"Okay, and I am knackered. I'll let you know when I can tutor you next; I want the world to know of this Alchemy, but for now you go research in the library. Sorry, but I think that I am done for the day."

Edward thanked the man for all of his hard work, then turned to leave. But as he did so, he was interrupted by the door opening to release an old figure into the room. The man was well past his prime and looked as if he just simply refused to die yet despite what his body was telling him.

"Ah, hello grandfather." Said Hassan, noticing the figure, who was guiding himself slowly with the walking stick until he reached his favourate chair, in which he had great difficulty sitting down in as his joints had worn over a hundred years, his life simply not ending due to great luck and a lifetime of exercise.

But even as he finally sat, his gaze remained fixated upon the young lad known as Edward Elric.

Finally, with difficulty, he spoke, his voice cracking from the years he had lived.

"Ah... even one hundred years later, I recognise that face. I recognise those eyes. But most importantly, I recognise that idiotic hairstyle. Are you-"

Edward knew immediately where this was going, and he was also tired. He wasn't one for idle small talk.

"Look,nif its about that justified bastard of a father, Hohenheim, I will sock you so hard that your tongue comes out of your arse!"

Hassan moved to complain about Edward's rather harsh treatment of his grandfather, but the man just simply waved him back and laughed."

"Good to see such youthful optimism. Yes, you guessed it. Forgive me for telling an old man's tale, but I think you want to hear. I always liked alchemy, but when I was a young lad at five, that man showed up and taught a few of us lucky kids everything we needed to know about alchemy. It was a spare time job... he was researching anti transmutation circles. Now, I remember that guy... you act a bit like him, actually. Annoying."

The man ignored the telltale signs of Edward's eye twitching at that statement.

"Still, I've read a bit about your capture of that mercenary. You are a bloody prodigy, aren't you? Still, to be expected of the grandson of that man. I suppose your dad was a dick as well?"

"Hohenhiem, the one I think you are talking about, since there is only one, is my dad. And yes, I know that defies logic. But he was not a normal man, let me tell you that."

"So... what was he?"

"A ex Xerxean slave who got caught in the wrong alchemic reaction at the wrong time. Now I have got to go."

Edward turned to leave, but was caught up by one more comment.

"Heh. If that is true, then we Xersians are several generations down the line from you and yet we exist at the normal time! I knew that man was not normal! Anyway, take care lad."

And with that, Edward left the room. Hohenheim... was he ever not involved In anything?


	9. Chapter 8: Politics and war

The military vehicle started halting, canopy hiding several soldiers from the rays of the sun that threatened to consume the surrounding area in a bask of visible light, and threatened the emergence of shadows that could take not life, but could take away the false illusion that light is good. That it could shield the soldiers from danger, from that which lurks in, or for the younger and less experienced minds, are, the shadows. No, this did not catch the attention of the experienced lieutenant, a man who waved his hand through his blonde hair, olive skin resulting due to the aforementioned sunlight due to a tan.

Angloterrans ranged from light olive skin, their sunlight deprived skin colour, which was about the same tone as a dark toned caucasian, to extremely dark in conditions where exposure to sunlight was high. This natural tone was simply a result of tanning, although in the areas of sunlight and areas of lack thereof, the composition would change, and natural selection would take hold. However, as the man checked his bolt action rifle, a powerful tool, its design and that beautiful, long barrel that exposed the degree of accuracy the rifle could bring to a firefight. While, being a bolt action rifle, it did not have as high a rate of fire as the pistols, machine guns and, quite a new invention, sub machine guns, its power was legendary, for this rifle could easily drop a bear at a large enough distance to provide safety for the user, often five hundred yards. This rifle was also, due to the barrel, lethally accurate, and a aimed shot would drop a enemy combatant if the weapon was aimed to the right area upon the body. Furthermore, despite the bolt action, a trained user could snap off about twenty five shots a minute, well aimed ones at that, including the necessary reloads.

As such, its potential made it a versatile infantry weapon, a weapon that had found its way into the hands of soldiers of many militaries worldwide. When fired as a squad, the weapon had great suppressive effects, often stimulating machine gun fire when fired by a trained squad, and bloody accurate fire too, as many a surviving combatant would say. Not to mention that if a squad suppressed you, there was always at least two soldiers looking to outflank, or one sniper moving slowly until he had a shot.

But Manderson had no reason to worry for the gun as he loaded the clip and bought the bolt forward, locking the cartridge in the firing position and he checked, then double checked, that the safety was most certainaly on. Satisfied, he looked to his comrade and superior, major Halifax, and the dark skinned man nodded and walked on, having already left his vehicle.

Manderson motioned the men in this vehicle, his men, to do the same. Today was quite an important day for the lieutenant. The reason why he was in command of this mission, and not the major, was that he was to be promoted upon completion of the siege, and if he could demonstrate leadership capabilities in this mission, the incentive would be even clearer.

So, as he left the vehicle and spied the amassed soldiers around him, the major approached him, his rifle slung unceremoniously over his shoulder, he asked Manderson the details of the mission.

"Well, you are in command. What do you need us to do?"

"You simply need to wait here." Replied Manderson, his eyes staring into the major, who was not actually Angloterran born, but was now a citizen, and one with distinguished military service at that. "We will send up a sniper to mess up their formations and draw them in the wrong direction. My squad will quickly evaluate the building, while you load arnaments. Send up the tank upon my command, then prepare ordnance. I want that building levelled, not captured. My men will kill any and all revolutionary soldiers."

The major nodded, then turned to the tank, where the driver, Sherman, was leaning outside the top of his hatch. From above the turret, the commander, Chirchill, was fitting his helmet.

Like a kot of soldiers here, Churchill was wearing the new Angloterran helmets, which actually incorparated a gas mask, admittedly a small metal one that fitted over the mouth and nose, a very modern development for this time, which was, of course, attatched to the helmet. In actual fact, the metal was simply lining to the gas mask, which was itself made of several other materials. The gas mask, however, did not fit the coventional design, but instead was compressed and had two filters.

However, as he was experiencing as he put on the helmet, it made breathing as difficult as trying to stuff a cat into a bath. Still, that was constant with Angloterran helmets, and a fearure that he had long since adapted to.

He called over his friend, the N.C.O. known as Scott, and gaveva quick hand signal to the soldier, who followed him. Behind him, Sherman, who's arms were folded, gave a quick question to the major.

"How long we gonna wait, sir? The kettle's gonna heat up, we need the engine set up... gonna attract a lot of attention from those blighters, eh?"

As the major gave the unspoken command to wait, and Manderson climbed the short ridge that resulted from the sand to stare at the building ahead of him, and as his men moved up to the ridge to take up position, Manderson took out a pair of binoculars and contemplated the rhyming slang that Sherman had said for kettle. He suspected that it meant metal. He stared at the building, a rather ugly five story building that was made of rather horrible grey matter that seemed to be more concrete than brick... no wait, it was concrete. It was a rather basic building as well, a small rectangular block in the middle of nowhere. To define the building as weird was an understatement. It was Alien, a body that should not have been there.

"How long do you estimate, Scott?" Asked Manderson, staring at his comrade intently for an answer.

His comrade continued looking through his own pair of binoculars, not shifting his gaze to his superior.

"About two hundred yards sir... wait, two two five. We- bloody hell, are they Xingese?"

Manderson looked intently at what had caught the N.C.O's attention, and spied out the figures surrounding the building.

A couple of vehicles, rather advanced for rebel activity, were parked, crates stacked up alongside the vehicles, trucks like the Angloterrans had used tonget here, but as Manderson looked through his own binoculars, he could see people parading the windows above him, rifles at the ready, while below him were the people which had caught the N.C.O's attention.

Dressed in ornamental garb, the soldiers of Xing, with their robes that had been designed for military usage, as in shortened, but still a bright and dazzling display, stood ready, while to the side stood soldiers which Manderson suspected were Salatan, a small but advanced country just to the north of Xing. So they must have built the building.

The building, according to the scouts, who had done a remarkable job of not being seen, was where countries that recognised the free state of Xersia as a seperate country to the Angloterran empire, or to put it bluntly, recognised it's independance to the anger of people like Manderson, and were currently using this base, quite a distance from Xersia itself, as a means of supplying the rebels. In all essence, they were fighting a shadow war with Angloterra.

Manderson suspected that other nations were involved, and hostile to Angloterra's expansion, but the reasons for helping Xersia were different for every country, ranging from destabilisation of the empire, to genuinely supporting the rebellious city, to only doing it to get the Angloterran military pressure off their backs. And this was the pick up point.

It was an incredibly simple operation. It was a huge risk for Angloterra, since diplomatic tensions would soar due to this, but it displayed Angloterra's military might and made a clear message to the world.

The Angloterran Empire shall not allow you to interfere against us, or we shall crush you.

It was just another step to Angloterran superiority. Its goal was global dominance, and currently it seemed to be that Angloterra may very well achieve that goal. They had, after all, one of the most powerful, well trained, and technologically advanced militaries in the world, if not the mist powerful, well trained and technologically advanced. Well, it was in the world known to Angloterra.

And for Angloterra, it wanted to be the only military power in the known world. And then it would expand into the unknown as it had so many times before.

But these little trades, dishonourable actions (notice the hypocrisy?) That the other countries were doing were just annoying. Good men may die here today because of a bunch of bloody, no good Xersian rebel bastards and their little helpful friend's. But that ended today.

He had already formulated a plan which took into account external factors, had designed it so that all the outcomes led to one inevitable solution; he wins. He had also taken into account the fact that there appeared to be more soldiers than expected, due to what was probably a trade going on as of now, but he had the major on backup as well.

He had also ensured that, in the death of all commanding officers, the soldiers would know what to do.

Finally, he had factored in potential usage of Alchemy, although it seemed that Alkahestry may be involved as well.

He had the plan, and he saw his N.C.O, his friend, load his smg with a fresh magazine. It was a new Gothian invention, called the CQC-5 the fifth gun in the CQC range, a radical redesign, much better than the cheap, Anglian made SMG's that were in current usage with Anglia, and it actually had the clip on the bottom, something not yet done in Anglia for SMG's. Blimey, those Gothians were the greatest guys alive when you needed a good piece of inventing. Still, Gaulians had the art and a bit of engineering.

Manderson spied, using his binoculars, the ridge far away, about five hundred yards from the building, where one of his snipers had carefully concealed himself amongst the sand banks, gun just visible. He would be the man to start this, to fire the shot that wouls echo through the air and take the life of soldiers below as the battle between his men and the enemy began.

There would be casualties. One or two Angloterran soldiers may pose a significant risk for anybody... but in the midst of battle, as bullets flew round from soldiers on all sides, the very engagement would garuntee that at least some Angloterran families would never see their adventurous son, or doting husband, or loving father, again.

His men were ready. The tank crew were ready. The major was ready, and now aware that there was a bigger risk on their hands. Probably less than forty men, but It could even match one hundred, if the building was big enough. But then again, a few deaths would not stop Angloterra's march towards progress and the inevitability of an Empire.

And so, as the soldiers ouiside the building were more worried about the heat of the sun, and the water that they needed to give away that they so desprately wanted to quench their thirst with now then about a possible Angloterran attack due to its distance from the city, a gunshot from a snipers bolt action rifle, the same type as the normal rifle, albiet with a telescopic sight added, broke the unpleasent silence of the desert and announced to the soldiers that they had been foynd out, that they had been followed, that they had been caught, that they had been attacked, even all the way out here, and they were well and truly fucked.

...

To say that a lot of things were going on in the city is one of the largest and most incorrect understatements. Indeed, several people were touring the city, some firing off random shots at hapless Angloterran soldiers below from the great walls of the city, some tending to the horrific injuries, including loss of limbs, from the Angloterran counter snipers, Angloterran artillery bombardments, the mercenary attacks a while back, and indeed some from the more dangerous inhabitants of the city.

And even then, some of the city's key inhabitants, well... key to this story, anyway, were acting in the city. If one took the time to look, one would find Edward Elric in the library, reading on the symbolic aspects in terms of the symbols used In the Aclchemy of Xerxes. And he was annoyed that it was not science, or mathematics, although these did have a role to play, but myths and legends, theocracy from competing sources due to a drastic change in religion at about five hundred years before its unanticipated destruction at the hands of Father, and the fact that the symbols were exactly that; symbolic explanations that had made its way into the science of the Transmutation circle, which had been carried over to Amestris.

He was also researching why matter was so easily converted from one state to another, when several highly detailed transmutations were needed in Amestris. Furthermore, he was seeing how the concept of life force, something that had seemed a simple idiotic function to him that he had no idea why his comparatively rational brother would research its Alkahestric form, was actually pioneered and explained, and he wanted to find out why that is. Furthermore, he was beginning to discover that the Xerxean and Xingese texts were badly translated, even though Amestris and Xing were created by the same people as whom had come from Xerxes, and finding that though spoken languages, despite being different, had been formulated with similar contexts, tenses and structures, due to the aforementioned involvement, the written languages were completely seperate due to cultural identidy, where Hohenheim and Father had instead used mathematical equations. But the failed involvements and shoddy translations to the more geographically neutral language, the Angloterran languages, were really ripping his research apart. Annoyingly, one book that could answer his questions on the scientific calculations from Xerxes, a book called 'Alchemic Algebra; the proof of trancha', was currently borrowed.

The other book that could answer one of his questions, why Hohenheim was here, was currently in the possession of Joshua, who was researching anti transmutations, and increased knowledge since Xerxean times (of which the improved knowledge made Hohenheims circle significantly more efficient for a lower usage of the souls trapped inside of him.). Indeed, Joshua was also researching ways to discretely use alchemy to escape, kill a few Angloterran soldiers, then pull back, before anybody had a chance to act.

Ayan Athens was in the tunnel, specifically evaluating the last exit to the outside of the city, now destroyed by dynamite and patrolled by its Angloterran destructors.

Beneath the city, in the sewers, Charles Montue also evaluated the sewers for any sign of transmutation, while Alphonse Elric did the same, albiet also studying Xerxean alchemy from 'Alchemic Algebra; the proof of trancha', lamenting on why he was seventeen, yet due to his crime, had the mental age of a thirteen year old, and thought of how useful it would have been in Amestris if he could actually have mentally aged.

He also attempted to use Alkahestry, succeding, but only to the extent of a vicious decomposition and sudden release of energy, i.e explosions, and only a very small one at that, and was testing both A; his low success rate, and B; whether he could do it without a circle either, or at least the second guiding circle. He had no success in determening an answer.

He also repeatedly smashed his head against the wall to knock himself unconcious to see if when he refused his body at the gate to fight father, the his soul had not spontaneously switched bodies. He quickly concluded, with his smarter, more developed thirteen year old mind, that using himself as an experimental subject was neither big, clever, or mos importantly, painless. Also, he felt his mental age drop by one month due to either A; trauma, or B; his stupidity in thinking that smashing his head against a wall would help in any way.

Also, Julian was having trouble producing a character for himself as he made a very simple chemical bomb for somebody and produced a detonator as well, realistically a pin that would cause something to move and the chemicals to mix in two minutes. He could not determine whether he truly was sociopathic chaotic evil mass murderer, whether he was a social darwinist that despised war and tried to end it by destroying the weaker side, or if he was a well intentioned extremist who truly had a noble long term goal in mind, or if he just wanted to advance Alchemy, whether he was a pragmatic man who had his own agenda different to the public facade that he provided, or if he secretely lusted for ultimate power and had a plan already in motion to do so, or if he was just simply a Kimblee clone. The Cretan decided that he could be all of those. Except the last one. Nobody was as magnificent as Solf J. Kimblee, who had blue and orange, or even above good and evil, morality and basically ripped Pride apart fom within to the extent that even a basic reaction that anybody could do would kill him, Edward instead turning himself into a one soul phillosophers stone not to kill him, as he could do normally due to Kimblee, but to save him and return him as Selim Bradley. A fitting end for Pride.

He sighed and returned the new bomb to its owner. Everybody misunderstood him, because his true ideals were utterly confusing. Not just on a blue and orange scale, as in his morality making no sense to the average homo sapien, but on a scale akin to crossing over into several forms of morality, making almost no sense yet somehow fitting into our idea of morality.

He wasn't complex, he just had a immoral methods to a utterly indeterminable goal. The man he had talked to last time was a man who attempted to get people to try human transmutation in search of knowledge, suffer the consequences, and bring the lesson to others. But Julian was not normal. And he honestly had no need for alchemic knowledge. He knew another reason as to why he had no need for such an obvious trap.

Still, he had an ultimate goal, and while it was in operation due to a rather effective crime syndicate, it seemed that it would soon come to a race against time before Angloterra won.

In all honesty though, he just latched on to an already existing plot from said syndicate and improved it. And if he won... Angloterra would have to see if they truly were brave enough to face Xing if Xing had Alkahestry.

Of course, he had no actual involvement in said plot, he only observed the results. But If the original plot worked, then the crime syndicate would be capable of destroying its rivals, and making its form of criminal activities utterly unstoppable, for they would have a very good system set up as a result that would be sustainable for itself and would ensure that cooperation would be vital, and also discourage rival factions from doing the same.

Admittedly, the man he had talked to had started the plot, for one of the gang members had actually fallen for the trap. Not opening the room, but finding the evidence of transmutation nearby.

What he had found had cost him his genitals, a rather unfortunate rebound. What he had gained was worth it in his eyes.

Futhermore, in the palace, two events were taking place. One was that an investigator had broken into the palace, his past as a thief paying off as he snuck into the palace and opened the closely guarded vault that contained the secret that he planned to give to the anti Isosceles faction as a way of proving him guilty of attempting to kill civillians. This did not work for several reasons. First was that the evidence would only have lowered Bashir Hoplite's credability as a human being.

Second, there was no actual evidence for it now, and what had been evidence was a now evidence no longer, and it had been public consent arisen from a question by Isosceles that lead to its removal.

Third and finally, although undetected by the guards, he had been spotted and followed. And the man had taken it from him due to suspucious activity that needed to be properly evaluated.

The investigator could not do much since Alexander Fields was holding his SMG, which unlike the Gothian machine pistols, had the clip on the side. And the Investigator knew that he had lost, for said weapon was pointed at the back of his head. So much for trying to fulfil his own agenda with such a lawful neutral character nearby.

But up above, the meeting that would determine a good portion of the future of the revolution was being held.

Currently, Abdul Isosceles sat upon his armchair, his eyes distracted from the other men sat around in various seats as he looked out through the open window/door, across the white washed balcony into the cloudless sky above, his mind working at a pace not normally matched by most individuals, but not to the same extent as the ever intregued alchemists of the city of Xersia.

There were two other men in the room, and one other seat laid bare, its supposed occupant running late. Of the two already present men, one was Bashir Hoplite, who was pretending that the world around him meant nothing to him, but was betrayed by the notebook that lay upon his lap. He was here for a reason, that was for sure.

The second man was commander Abu Troy, a relatively new commander due to the death of the last commander in a very unsuccessful raid upon the Angloterran camp. He clearly had no idea as to what the meeting was for; a clear indication of his inexperience. Still, he had done a good job of policing the city, especially after the mercenary attacks, and now the soldiers could probably deal with another attack. Still, he was hopelessly outmatched by Lancaster, demonstrating the reason why Angloterra was pretty much on the verge of victory against this uprising.

Isosceles was cut off from his gaze over the balcony by the arrival of a third figure, who stepped through the door and sat his bottom down upon the empty seat that had been arranged for him. The man threw his hands through his short, quite dazzling golden hair, his light brown eyes gazing upon the three other men.

The handsomely built twenty three year old man, with features that could potentially kill a female, or male, or even a transsexual. His name, as he sat down in the black chair, was Sallam Poseidon, and he was the diplomat of the free state of Xersia, and quite an influencial person in the city as well, widely regarded as a smooth, charismatic, idealistic man who could sway the crowds like Hoplite, but could sway individuals as well. It was a blessing that Xersia took full advantage of.

"Ah, Poseidon, how goes your venture to Aerugo?"

The man settled down and waved a hand in response to the question.

"A most successful venture. For one, they gave me the free clothes I am wearing now. However, to be more important, I have persuaded the royalty there, and the prime minister, to recognise Xersia as independant from the Angloterran Empire. In addition, because of the recent peace agreement with Amestris, they have agreed to supply us with new weapons, supplies, and have also offered to pave the way for the hiring and distribution of mercenaries to assist us. A most fine public display was also made of my visit. The masses of Aerugo support us and our struggle for independance."

Isosceles smiled, happy to finally have a victory. Even if they were losing, the hope that captured the hearts of so many civillians was held fast by the prospect of foriegn aid.

"Very good Poseidon. I knew that we could count on your natural charisma. Did they ask for anything in return?" Asked Isosceles to the Xerxean skinned man.

"No, although I believe that they strongly implied that our alchemic knowledge would be sufficient. Apparantly, they want to get back their lost territory due to Amestris diplomatically, either through trade with Amestris, or offering the knowledge to Creta."

There always was a catch, but honestly the alchemic knowledge meant little in the way of tue chance for victory. Yes, it was the classic Aerugan tactic, but it seemed to be more like one of several reasons for assistance rather than the sole reason.

"And how are the other countries?" Asked Isosceles, jotting down notes on his paper.

"Amestris has shown a vague interest, a unsurprising turnabout, given its rather dark and troubled pre coup past, especially regarding Ishval. However, I would not trust them; Bradley was a benevolent and kind ruler, much loved by his people, despite his terrible diplomatic policies, but his generals used him to further their own ends. However, Grumman's new regime is still a parlimentary dictatorship, like Anglia. It is possible that they could sway back to their pre coup behaviour. Amestris, Creta and Drachma are too caught up in border disputes and attempting to find a way to destroy, or protect for Amestris, Briggs. Creta and Drachma might ally, but all three countries are too caught up in war. The west has been unsuccessful apart from Aerugo. Xing is in turmoil, and while the majority of clans are neutral, support is often unofficially given to clans supplying us. However, it seems that a couple of clans have cast their lot in with the Angloterrans instead. Also, an emperor has not been chosen as of now. They helped us a lot, and despite their neutral stance, public opinion is in favour of our independant state. Marsidia is too engrossed with Angloterra; they seem to be in bed with one another, although it is only because Marsidia does not want to be conquered yet. Salata officially recognises and supports us, as do several other small countries surrounding Xing that Angloterra is significantly threatening. However, we have no support from Angloterran colonies east, for various, obvious reasons. Ultimately, if we want to win, we need to use the countries we have."

A murmer of disagreement came from Bashir Hoplite.

"Sorry, but all this aid is impractical, Poseidon. We lost our last hidden entrance to those Angloterran bastards! Yes, we may have support, but now we are going to starve or die of thirst first!"

"Or run out of Ammunition." Added Isosceles, trying to make it seem that the rebellion would fight to the last bullet, the last man even, if the public voted for independance from the Angloterran Empire. But all he managed was to add another glaring point to an already oversized list.

To make matters worse, Troy had even more news to add.

"We recieved word a few moments before the meeting. The supply base... has come under Angloterran attack."

A audiable gasp came from the other three people in the room, all three knowing fully well that Angloterran soldiers were definitely going to destroy the supply depot. To Isosceles' surprise, it was Hoplite who gave the optimistic comment.

"Relax... we outnumber them, right! And with Xingese and Salatan troops there, we can fight them off!"

Continuing this rather strange trend, Isosceles proceeded to be the pessimist.

"These are Angloterran soldiers, Hoplite. Trust me when I say that they will win with comparatively minor casualties. They are a army of elite mooks, and they will wipe us off the map. Also, In the unlikely circumstance that we and our allies are victorious... they need only to send a larger force. Face it Hoplite... our last supply base has fallen. Our rebellion needs to end soon."

"I am just surprised that they had the balls to attack the base while our allies are there! Do they want to declare open war on the other countries!" Exclaimed Hoplite angrily, smashing his hand down hard upon the armrest of his chair. But he knew that if Angloterra won... his career would end alongside his life. And that he never wished to happen. Damn it, he had so much ambition left!

Troy was panicking slightly, and Isosceles was running through his head, although he betrayed no emotio explaining this, the chance that the people may want peace, in which case he would sue for peace. But Poseidon had kept a cool head throughout the revealation, and he decided to demonstrate what he had thought of the whole affair.

"This serves little but to demonstrate Angloterra's strength and commitment. And any nation that does complain is basically going to have to admit to collaberating against Angloterra; exactly the kind of excuse Angloterra needs to invade said nation. Let us face it here... whatever happens as an outcome, Angloterra will ultimately win. So we need a new plan. Right here, right now. We can't simply win through might, diplomacy, backup or even technology, but we have one thing that they only have an estimated fifteen of; alchemy. They have about fifteen Empirewide conciousnesses, for their lack of souls, bonded to a suit of armour. Now, our alchemic might alone is not enough to win, for that lunatic of a lieutenant colonel, Lancaster, is simply too savvy for that. However, he does not know the power it has, and overestimates its potential to an extent. Not a bad idea, but we can exploit it. You see, if we were to fake alchemic reactions in the sewers, the investigators would definitely find out. And if that happens... Lancaster will start to get a bit worried. He would hire mercenaries, more of them, to do his dirty work, while he continues to besiege the town. And if we play our cards right... we can get the Aerugan hired mercenaries in the camp. And all it takes is a few lit matches... and the Angloterran weapons will go up in smoke. A few bombed train lines, supposedly by us, should stop the reinforcements. We can destroy the cannons, free up sewer exits. But do not stop there. Even if we do this, it will be a temporary setback, and the town will remain besieged by the Angloterran military. But if we use the chaos to prove that Angloterra can be held up... the united people will rise up against the Empire all across the globe, and maybe even foriegn nations will get involved. For whatever we do, if we are to win here, we don't just need to beat these forces; we cannot. But we can provide hope to the world, and that is what will save us and defeat the Empire. If we are to remain hopeful, we need to prove to others that holding hope is not an idiotic fallacy. It is the key to the future."

The powerful speech instantly won over Troy, and caused a bit of a glare from Bashir to Poseidon. But Isosceles was not convinced. Surely, if Poseidon was this clever, he would have a backup plan. So what ever in the name of Xersia could that plan be?

However, he had little choice. He disliked being desperate, but for the whole rebellion he had been desperate. And now he was desperate more than ever.

So, for the next hour, the men sat around and discussed the plans, making phone calls to see if such a plan could be carried out. But when the meeting was concluded and the day was done, his comrades had left, leaving him staring out over the city as he walked out to the balcony and gripped the marble banister tight. It was a now or never decision. Poseidon had a good, solid plan, there was proof from empires past that it would work, there was the opportunity to remove the threat of Angloterra for good, and thete was always the option to increase diplomatic ties so that Xersia could remain an independant country.

But as he stared at the beautiful city that was his life, past the museum and the library and the all encompasing square, he reflected on what the future could bring to the city. Would they truly become a free, independant, democratic society? Or would that all be taken away by another foriegn power? Could they support themselves to be democratic, or woukd a bigoted dictator rise and take power? And could they even finally be free of Angloterra, or would Angloterra take It all away immediately afterwards, or even crush the dream of the city right here, right now, as Poseidon's plan failed?

As it turned out, he didn't need to reflect on the future of the city. You see, the present was of a more immediate concern.

In the room he had come out from, there lay a briefcase. And while Isosceles phillosiphosed the future, the present dictated that the timed lock would end due to the little pin being removed. The little compartments opened, releasing two violent, unstable chemicals right into each other in a high pressure enviroment.

And the resulting explosion sent shrapnel directly into Isosceles' back, killing the kindly representative instantly from the shock and throwing his lifeless, limp body off the balcony and into the small area between the main street and the five palace steps below.

...

"Move up lads!" Yelled Manderson, aiming his rifle at a Xingese soldier in a window of the building and firing, but to no noticible effect bar supression.

It was true that Anglia could be characteristically evil at times; all of the scientists were testing on prisoners, all of the doctors cut up live humans for research, all of the MP's were political backstabbers willing to do anything for power, all of the military is psycotic, and even civilians will kill you for indeterminable, often stupid reasons. But despite all of this, the royal Anglian military was well trained, disciplined, and combat ready.

Well, royal was no longer the correct terminology. Ever since Arthur took power, the usage degraded. Nowadays, it is oficially, and unoficially, the Anglian armed forces. The traits of a monachy long past were finally removed from Anglia, and nobody could do anything about it.

At the same time, there was no doubting that the Gothian military was on the rise, especially the air force, which now was three times the size of the Gaulian air force, and twice the size of the Anglian air force. Indeed, Gothia's increasing importance in affairs was becoming a bit of a pain in the arse for Cunningham, and he could do very little to nothing about it.

Indeed, although it had been done so in Gothia for many centuries, social Darwinism had taken over the empire, although not in the form one might expect. In actual fact, it was in the form of a welfare system, for the Angloterrans believed that equality and working together was what made humanity, and by extention the empire, so successful. That was why they reversed Charles Zi Brittania's infamous quote a few chapters ago. Still, the fight was getting intense.

A two man group of Angloterran soldiers set up a machine gun on the ridge and fired indiscriminately into the Rebel, Xingese, and Saltarian soldiers below, masacarring any who dared to stick his head up to fire back. Meanwhile, the snipers, who had badly missed their first shot due to the extreme distance, used their spotters to guide them as their bullets hit closer and closer to the mark. Eventually, as the enemy soldiers below watched for attempts at outflanking, a common Angloterran tactic, the first bullet to hit wedged itself in a Saltarian soldier's arm.

While the Saltarian soldiers were the biggest threat to the Angloterrans, they were few in number and had increased self preservation instincts when compared to their counterparts. As such, they were inching their way past the ruined trucks to the building's entrance, hoping for more cover.

As more Angloterran soldiers moved up to the ridge, a sniper in one of the windows fired at a private, who quickly started to crawl back down the fired at the window with his smg/machine pistol, depending on which country was using it, not hitting his target but setting the soldier slightly on the retreat to stop the bullets coming from the window.

However, the building exterior was a curb stomp battle for Manderson and Halifax's unit, with a huge amount of rifles that contained the little lead pellets of death firing upon the split, broken and supressed soldiers below. However, the building was a different matter, with plenty of windows, cover and opportunities to fire at and kill Angloterrans.

"Any unit experiencing contact?" Asked Manderson.

"One mounted gun firing at our 'glare' machine gun! The loader's hit, but it only grazed! Second floor!"

Manderson spied on the offending machine gunner, a Xingese soldier firing intensely at his targets. Manderson lined up a shot, but the small, involuntary movement of his muscles and his breathing meant that the shot missed. Angrily, he cycled the cartridge and fired again, this time hitting home and sending a quick squirt of blood as the bullet impacted into the man's chest. He picked up a Saltarian soldier aiming at a soldier in halifax's unit from the bloid and body stained exterior, and cycled the cartridge to input a new round into the chamber, and his next shot did not miss either. Although it only ruined the Saltarian, the sudden pain would save the life of one of Hakifax's men. The firing continued from both sides, and the rebel forces managed to wound a couple of Angloterran soldiers by firing from the windows. The next shot, a random bullet that had been much the same as the shots fired by both sides, pierced the goggles of an Angloterran and killed him instantaneously by lodging its way into his brain from just beside the eye.

"Report! Any other contact!" Asked Halifax, taking his cue from Manderson's earlier statement.

"Building and courtyard! Agh, some wanker is underneath the truck! I can't hit him!"

"Far right one?" Inquired Manderson.

"Yes, gov'nor." Came the response.

"Hold on, I may have a shot, cover me while I flank!" Yelled one of Manderson's men, and Manderson could see out of the corner of his eye a soldier start crawling back down and around the ridge to do the maneuver he had described.

Since the Angloterrans had the ridge, they could pull back quickly to safety if they came under fire, and Manderson found himself doing exactly that as two Xingese soldiers fired at his position, the man next to him doing the same.

"Sir!" Yelled a panicking soldier. "Monty Python references coming from the right flank!"

"I thought Monty Python was the best comedy of all time!"

"It is sir, but if the references reach us, all originality in this story will disappear!"

The soldier was drowned out on the radio as the tank rolled past Manderson to the ridge, ready to break apart the building piece by piece. Manderson never regretted using tanks, and why was about to be displayed as some of the soldiers srarted to pull back from the windows in the correct foresight of what was going to happen next.

As Churchill fired the machine gun through the small hatch inside the tank at the ground floor, he shouted out an order to his gunner.

"Fire!"

The reaction shifted the tank back slightly, and Sherman barely managed to keep the tank from rolling back down the hill as he was jolted by said reaction, but the shell hit home on the first floor, and tore a chunk out of the wall, and a bit of the floor as well, and felling an unfortunate rebel who was too close to escape the resulting shrapnel from the blast. Cromwell reloaded the cannon, and the next shell hit the third floor, destroying part of the concrete and exposing the structural framework of the building, and two Saltarian soldiers who quickly ran for cover, one of whom was wounded, soon to die from it, by a large volley of fire from soldiers on the ridge. As the loud shots of gunfire filled the air, the rebel sniper that Manderson had supressed earlier killed one of Halifax's soldiers as he dropped back, but was quickly avenged by a Angloterran sniper even further away. The machine gun had stopped firing upon the courtyard, and for a moment Manderson suspected that the gunner had been injured or had become the third Angloterran fatality today, but was corrected when the machine gun instead started to fire upon the building.

With nothing better to do in this quick, brutal battle, as the tank took larger chunks out of the building, Manderson aimed at the machine gun from earlier, trying to disable usage of it, but was quickly bought back into the real battle when a bullet glanced off his helmet.

"Shit!" He swore silently to himself, and he ignored self preservation for a moment as he searched for his perpetrator.

Said perpetrator was a Saltarian soldier who had come up from behind the bonnet of a truck, having survived the massacre earlier, ahd the two men quickly pointed rifles at each other in a fleeting instinct.

Manderson swung his rifle round at his attacker and lined up a shot, while the soldier lined up his rifle and pushed the bolt forward and locked it. Both men instinctively went for the trigger, knowing that whoever shot first would live, and the other would die.

However, two factors made their conclusion invalid. One was that both men, in their rush to fire, would have missed, and the other was that the Saltarian was exposed himself, and was actually killed by an entirely different Angloterran soldier that he never saw.

Spying across the exterior, one Xingese soldier and one rebel remained, while a pool of blood under the far right truck confirmed that the soldier indeed had obtained a shot by flanking the soldier.

Manderson was quickly cut off by part of the building collapsing from the next tank shell to crush the soldier on the floor below. And with that, as the soldiers on the ground outside the building were finally taken down, the battlefield fell quiet at last.

"Anybody got any enemies in sight?"

A thin silence filled the radio operators earphones, and he shrugged his shoulders at Manderson as the lieutenant descended the ridge and picked up the mouthpiece.

"This is lieutenant Manderson to Major Halifax, have you encountered any hostiles yet?"

No reply came from the headphones, causing the lieutenant to raise an eyebrow.

"Major?"

Still, the agonising silence filled the eardrums of the lieutenant, his ears looking for a response.

He was quite surprised to actually get one.

"I'm here lieutenant. No sightings. Estimated about... thirty five enemy fatalities. Twenty outside, fifteen inside. We have five casualties; two dead, Smith and Harrow, and three injured."

Harrow... only last night the man was sitting around chatting with the lads. Still, it was the inevitable outcome of war, when people... no, friends, died. All their families would ever be told was that they died in the line of duty.

"Two casualties here, corporal Sopwith is dead, private Johnson is injured. Apart from that, only minor scratches. Tank is alright. Still... only thirty five. Do you think that they are using tunnels to outflank us?"

The radio remained dead for a second, but the reply came almost instantly after the question had been taken into the Major's head.

"Affermative. They most likely are. Should we set up a defensive perimeter?"

"Roger that, I'll send out patrols in case they are running."

Manderson dropped the radio and turned to his men.

"Right, I need twelve men... yeah, you lot will do fine." Ordered Manderson, gesturing to twelve uninjured men. "Right... six squads of two. You will work in three groups, each group consisting of two squads... four men. If your partner disappears or is killed, blow into it, unless it is dangerous to do so, and run here as fast as possible and inform my eight man reserve group to back you up. Each group will agree a set location for both pairs to meet. If the other group does not arrive, do the same as if your partner is missing. If you see a rebel, dispatch him, then inform us. If you come under attack, run like hell and make as much noise as possible, unless you are pinned or in a defensible position, in which case just make noise. I want one squad in the building... be careful there structure is not intact, and two patrolling the desert. One radio operator per group. Get cracking lads!"

The soldiers saluted in the Anglian manor, the hand to the side of the head with the palm facing outwards, then thumped their hearts; the salute of the united Terran continent. Each country had their own salute, and would then give the Terran salute. The soldiers arranged and headed out, leaving Manderson alone as the defensive perimeter was set up around him, the tank covering his rear facing away from the building. And so the plan started.

For ten minutes all was silent. No reports came in, and no attacks came either. All was quiet on Halifax's end as well, the enemy forces disappearing as silently as the insects flew through the air.

Manderson wondered if he would at least get the report for this mission in.

Finally, after ten minutes, the radio came back to life.

"Lieut-nant?" Came a fuzzy voice from the other end.

"Manderson here, your reception is a little fuzzy.

"I know. S-thins interfering. Think t-ave radio-ell as us. Ba-leigh re-ted in. Apparantly, enemy diplomats w-eeing in - convoy. B-gh's squad killed them all. No-ther sightings."

"Very good. Return here at once."

"Y-s s-r."

The radio went dead again, but just a few seconds later, it perked up again, louder and clearer this time.

"Sir? This is Haynes. We have found a Xingese soldier planting some knives in the ground. He was planting one, and he had several more. We shot him dead. Permission to ask if anyone knows?"

Manderson shook his head.

"You don't even need permission!" He responded to the man on the radio, before turning to his own men. "Does anyone here know about Xingese knives?"

A young private stood up and saluted.

"Kunai, sir. Used as weapons. Why do you ask?"

"Some Xingese soldier was planting them in the ground. Any reason for this?"

The cogs appeared to turn in the young soldier's head, but when the circuit was connected and the current flowed, boy, was the voltage over resistance high.

"Oh shit sir! That's Alkahestry! Xingese Alchemy! That is their second Transmutation circle! We need to remove it!"

Manderson ran to the radio, and picked up the transmitter.

"Sir, did you-"

"Remove the knife and hold that position at all costs! I'm sending the tank to help."

Manderson was cut off by the sound of gunfire behind him.

"Bell! Get over here and get their location, then give it to the tank! We've got company!"

Bell did so as he went to all the commotion, where in the courtyard, he saw a dreadful sight.

Inside the courtyard where the Angloterrans had massacared the combined enemy forces before, the scene was reversed. The group that was searching the building was pinned down by a combined group of an unknown number of rebel, Xingese and Saltarian soldiers. Lance corporal Halburn was bleeding from a wound in his gut, bring tended to by a field medic, while the radio operator and the other soldier was firing back.

Manderson sneered. Damn these bloody terrorists! They had used the tunnels for their important induviduals, and the men remained inside to die so that the Xingese could use Alkahestry? Or were the ambassadors the sacrifices? No, that didn't seem right. Maybe... ah. They were trying to get his and Halifax's forces out of here, then move the supplies anyway?

Well, there wad no way he knew of into the city now, and chances were low that there was another secret enterance. All of them had pretty much been taken or destroyed. Damn it, the false hope so many rebels had...

Manderson ordered his men up to the ridge to open fire, dissapointed that he had sent the necessary tank away on a necessary order. He needed it here badly, so that he could destroy the rest of the building, but he had little choice. He would have to kill them by hand. So his unit fired, while a small detachment of Halifax's men, including the major himself, helped to kill the soldiers in the building. But as the battle went on, a Xingese soldier mounted the machine gun that Manderson had tried to destroy earlier. And as he fired randomly, Manderson did not notice until the bullets dislodged sand into his goggles.

The lieutenant attempted to move back, but a bullet pierced his thigh, sending the soaring pain thrpugh it as his body burned as an automatic response.

Quickly, his self preservation instincts kicked in, and he rolled backwards down the sand ridge, the sand entering the open bullet wound and each granule of sand caused the burning to once again engulf his being. And as he rolled, the snake of sand being kicked up by the bullets spat from the machine gun followed.

In just a few seconds, the last rebellious resistance in the building was defeated for good. The last of the remaining rebels wete curious as to why their transmutation failed, and went to investigate the position of the one man who didn't make it back. They found out too late why he was dead, and what metallic monstrosity awaited them in his place.

All in all, it was a textbook display of Angloterran military prowess. All enemies defeated, illegal contraband siezed, and a very clear message sent to the world, and especially the nations supporting Xersia, what Angloterra will do to win.

The Angloterrans had defeated their more numerous, some even highly trained, enemies with minimal casualties. Of the Angloterran casualties, the only fatalities who would never return home to their friends and/or family were Private Mike Smith, Private first class Stuart Harrow, Corporal Jeremy Sopwith, and Lieutenant John Manderson.


End file.
